40k: De-throned…

Terminus was feeling quite pleased with himself. His plague-ridden force was waiting for the final order to assault the planet below. He would choose his moment carefully; in the meantime he was enjoying the quiet before the storm, anticipating the panic rife on Cherbull.

The silence came to an abrupt end, warning claxons screaming into life. Another ship had entered the system. It was a colossal battlecruiser, bloated and distorted, the three circles of Nurgle proud upon it's hull. It drifted into the system above the gather Chaos vessels. Within minutes Terminus's own flagship had been plunged into complete shadow.

He now understood what his visions had meant.

After waiting what seemed an age, like a condemned man waiting for the guillotine blade to drop, the door to the viewing dome slid open and an enormous, horned silhouette strode in, stopping at the edge of the darkness, as if the light would melt his flesh. His outline appeared to shimmer, distorted by spores and flies floating about his mass. 

A deep voice began to rumble, underscored with venom.

"You and Maladus; you petty warband thugs. You call yourselves Lords of Nurgle – Ha!"



Terminus' gaze fell to the floor as he dropped to one knee.

The voice continued. 

"You have no idea what is at stake here. This incursion is too important to leave to you. I shall take care of these Imperial lapdogs myself."

"My L-Lord, I am perpetually devoted to your service. The forces are ready. If there is anything I can do…"

His ramblings faded and he was eventually cut short.

"You will join me on the battlefield, Terminus. Prove to me that you are worthy to lead the forces of Nurgle."

There was a hint of condescending humour buried deep beneath the venom and authority.

"There may be hope for you yet."

"Yes, my Lord."

The one they called The Destroyer Hive had arrived.
Cherbull was truly lost.