The Tale of Cystus the Malignant Part 3: Stagnation's Retreat

In the ensuing months since Cystus had taken on his apprentices, their bodies had, as he had told them, further changed and decomposed, becoming presentable adherents to Grandfather Nurgle. Rig, the massive Ogryn, had initially been almost indistinguishable from any other Ogryn, but now, he was a sight to behold.

Even as a Nurglic follower, Rig had continued to improve his body physically, the idleness common amongst the loving Grandfather’s followers not finding root in him. No, often times Nurglings would be giggling with glee as they were lifted into the air and juggled about by Rig as he furthered his physical might. The Death Guard soldiers he had employed with the consent and recommendation of Typhus often found themselves in arm wrestling matches, and sometimes even losing, their old muscles rotted from eons of underuse. But Rig never stopped so easily; pull ups from corroded piping, pushups in soggy, mushy ground, he was an undead workout machine. However, with his body not functioning as it had used to, it took its toll eventually. Rig’s skin had began to rip apart in areas where muscle mass had piled up considerably, his biceps and pectoral muscles almost bare of skin, yet unlike most Nurglic muscle, they were still bright with life, a special gift from both Grandfather and Cystus, he was to be their brute force, and he deserved a body that showed it. However, his musculature was not the only thing new about him.

Often times, newly embraced children would find themselves swelling with gas, making their skin, especially their guts, paper thin. Rig, being an Ogryn, was designed for high gravitational forces, with his pinky alone being nearly as strong as a normal man’s femur. An Ogryn’s skin though, was thick, calloused, and stronger than Kevlar. This proved both an advantage as well as a disadvantage for the brute. When rigor mortis began to set in, Rig did not inflate, nor did his skin weaken. However, because of the low elasticity of his skin, Rig’s gut did not bloat, but rather cracked open, expelling a gas so foul the other men aboard The “Necrophagia” dubbed him “Nurgle’s Gut”, many of them now referring to him by “Gutrot” or, much to Rig’s delight, “GutRig”.

Rig was not alone in his new mutations, the young Kriegsman, originally designated by the first numbers 517, now calling himself Cedric Inagrus, had adjusted to his new lot in life with great ease. Unlike the other faceless troops from Krieg, Cedric displayed a high level of autonomy, and when his desire for love and kindness was reciprocated by an entire ship’s crew, he could not wait for his body to change more. Unlike the other child of rot, Cedric took to the sedentary lifestyle of Nurgle immediately, to a point the others among The “Necrophagia” had not yet seen. After a particularly hearty greeting from the Nurglings, and the Death Guard elite, young Cedric simply collapsed in a corner, smiling while Nurglings danced around him. In the coming weeks, his body would bloat further and further, swelling even past Cystus’ rotund girth. He had become so affixed, that the wall had fused partially to him, rot spreading from his very body outwards. Cedric had also been gifted as a breeding ground for Nurglings, dozens regularly finding their way out of his mass. Still, his vacant smile never left, great clawed hands resting atop his huge belly. Though many of the crewmen began speculating whether Cedric was actually still classified as human, or if he was actually becoming a Great Unclean One, Cystus knew it was the former, albeit to a very loose definition. Humanoid was barely correct, but he was not yet a daemon, he would have been ushered away from their ship to the garden by now. No, he was still human, but Cystus needed to see for himself.

The room in which he had laid dormant for so long was eventually abandoned, the others not wanting to interrupt his remarkable transformation, leading to the bulkhead door crusting over with fungus and rust, which was easily countered by the ventilation system, through which Cystus buzzed through as a swarm of marked flies, until he reached his second, once smaller child. What lay before him was a corpulent idol of everything Nurgle upheld. Jovialness at all of life, an unwillingness to change for the world around him so fervent the world changed around him instead, and a love for the diseases Grandfather gifted the universe with. As Cedric stood for the first time in weeks, his legs, atrophied under mountains of excess fat, finally crumbled apart, leaving him forced to slide across the floor like some slug. In his upright position, Cedric’s upper body sank into himself, adding more to his large appearance, as well as causing him to perpetually leak horrific pus and bile. Overjoyed with his progress Cystus personally dubbed Cedric Inagrus as “Nurgle’s Bile Vessel”, and gave him the new name of Sepsys Inflamatus, a fitting name for the man who now oozed septic fluids forever.

However, the children were not the only one’s going through changes, as the Ultramarines were forced to heed the High Lords’ call to arms, at least to some degree. Calgar, even as Chapter master of the Ultramarines themselves, could not allow his men to leave their positions. So, after having mulled over his current predicament, Marneus Calgar sent word to the High Lords that he would be sending one of his greatest companies. Led by Brother Captain Cato Sicarius, the second company of the Ultramarines would lend their swords in defense of Holy Terra. The High Lords, knowing more of how terrible a threat Cystus was posing, were considerably angry, much to Calgar’s anger. “Until I am given sufficient evidence of this “malignant one’s” actual threat, we cannot afford to abandon our positions.” With that, communications were cut off, leaving the High Lords of Holy Terra to pray that the second company would be enough.

Deep within the warp, within an ancient chateau, surrounded by thick brambles, dying plants, and giant fungi belching toxic spores, an immensely fat entity rumbled with mirthful chuckles. Not only would Cystus not fail him, his newest brew, only just recently tested upon his captive goddess, would see to it that his children of rot would have a potent new toy to decimate the blue bothers. Grandfather Nurgle knew one thing, more so than even the great schemer, the master puppeteer himself Tzeentch could claim to have foreseen. With a final bellowing laugh that would even make Cegorach himself impressed, the god of disease and stagnation emptied his massive cauldron down the drain. The second company of the Ultramarines would not be nearly enough to tend with his children.