The Cultist's fangs trembled. "Sep--" She shouted out in a deafening, desperate roar to the cosmos, her voice instantly shattering communication equipment nearby. Her palms wrapped around the immobile, corpse-like, rotten shape. "Sepsis! Seester, hwat have hwee done?! In our search for powhor, hwee... hyu..."

Within her gentle hold, the green girl yawned. She rubbed her single yellow eye, brushed her hair, and scratched her stomach. "Haaah... Hey. Cultist, my gal. You grew."

The change in her massive friend's jagged, clenching jaws was audible. She nearly spat out an ocean while panting: "Hyoo leev! Hwee thought - hwee thought hyuu had - been squeeshed in that!" With thin purple eyebrows lowering, she suddenly gave a skeptic look. "Hyoo were... sleeping?"

Sepsis shrugged a horned, spotted arm. "Eh. Papa Nurgle's gifts. Ability to endure, cheat death, sleep anywhere, y'know." She half-waved an arm. "I'd found this nice sunny spot among some ships, but they all left. Some kinda hurry. I would've tagged along with them again, if it wasn't so comfy here."

After taking time to absorb the facts, Cultist audibly gasped. She shook her decaying ally back and forth, grasping fingers knocking back fire from the last few ground forces still below. "Hyuu mean eet? They really, really hwant us to fight all on our hown? Oh, Mahstohr, hyu've geeven us an eemportant duty! Hyu even went against Khohrn and retreehted fohr us!" She stared up longingly to the stars, hands clasped together in a twisted prayer - and the much-smaller woman squeezed inside. "Hwee will captoor eet all for hyuu!"

With bits of her rot flinging back and forth from the wild motions, the servant of the plague god sighed, and flopped her exhausted arms down around the huge thumb. "Yeah, I'm sure. Something like that." Allowing a yawn to leave her, she peeked down at the remains of sweat and dirt below. "Looks like you're already spreading enough filth for the both of us. Nice work. I can tag along, but... mind if I get back to lounging and loitering?"

Excitedly looking down, her massive companion nodded. "Oh, sure. Hwee have zhee perfect place!" She slipped Sepsis into the small crevice of her navel. Now that the Cultist was at a looming 181 meters, the minuscule gal had plenty of place to rest - sprawling out with a hand on her own tummy, and looking to the nearby sign of Nurgle with a relaxed sigh. Thanks to her unique, dripping physiology, she remained snug in place amid bits of belly button lint; even as the massive woman leaned over the landscape. It looked more and more like a map... No, an easel for which she'd etch the message of the true gods, for all the stars to see.

Though they started small, the black pillar of a pointer finger ended up ripping wider trenches, deeper into the Death World's core. She only paid slight attention to the existing bunkers and burrows of stationed Imperials, cloaked nails ripping away at their covering shrubbery; and sending massive fauna they once struggled against screeching and scattering to the winds in retreat. Most humans still standing rushed to escape the ever-extending reach of their gleeful foe, chased by her fingers - barely aware of the centimeter-and-a-half shapes affected by her artistic tracks. Even behind her, forces beyond her knowledge struggled to hold back and flee from every slow outward stretch of her expanding legs, resting soles-up on the ground. A few managed to duck in the wide spaces she'd already dragged the digit through; until she decided to brush over them again to give the lines a bolder definition, burying them in muddy canyons to get the thickness *just* right.

However, some soldiers who called the planet home - or something like home - remained standing, firing at the digits to the very end, cursing at the toothy grin in the sky. They were granted neither a heroic victory against the earth-rending phalanges, or a glorious demise in the name of their Emperor. Rather, they were either partly pressed into the same muck that formed spiraling mazes and designs, or clutching and screaming in the small wraps around the Cultist's fingers. These brave men had front-row seats to each of their companions' retreats (sometimes gaining a chance to shout at them); the multiple ships taking the skies nearby; the fleshy lips and chin of their colossal captor whenever she tapped her face idly; the slacking Nurgle daemonette nestled in her tum (giving occasional yawns and half-hearted waves); and, to their horror, a landscape view of the devastated, grotesque shape her fingers drew below.

It made them shout, sputter. Yet, like a trainwreck, they couldn't stop staring, even as the warp energy made her fingers and straps grow larger, and give them space to slip out. Rising Devourer Dropships, too, kept images of the maddening carving on their way back...

***

"M-PRER DUM <3"

The message on the monitor was clear - a taunting message that tainted the landscape. Freshly dug by prying fingers that sought to rip galactic order apart. It sent the higher-ups watching from light-years away in a furor.

"This world isn't worth it! Deploy Land Crawlers to erase it before any more pure eyes are tainted by this treachery!"

"We've already ordered mass evacuations for any habitations that can see the message, but they'll need to keep moving to account for Brore S05's orbit."

"Sir, this is the same location where the Khornate's signal arrived from - and, I only know that from proxy, his exact impure words never reached my skull. This is likely a sinister trap dreamed up by the most conniving, deceiving minds of our enemies."

"That's also the place where the guard requested backup - unless they succumbed to the corruption of that - creature!"

"My liege, we've already wasted too many resources, and their forces - that monster - aren't even trying. Can we not just wipe this entire incident from the records? What kind of a name is Brore, anyway, my liege?"

"Your righteousness, talking is soooo boring, and it's been almost two Ultramar weeks since our last Exterminatus..."

Stepping towards an Ultramarine with a blonde top-fade, who sat in contemplation, a pale-haired, pale faced Sororita whispered softly: "I, uhm... these words, they're frightfully heretical, but if you, ah, look at these images... that is to say, with your most, Emperor-gifted judgement, I shouldn't presume, and yet... I think I recognize her, the one behind the actions, who could..."

The man looked down from his majestic armor. "Out with it, Sister Ringarde."

Rearranging various photographs and drawings of the blasphemous carvings, the sister's sweating palms brought bits of the monster's skin together. She collaged the various angles to make out a huge torso, black-and-red bikini top still in place on its darkish skin; purple strands of hair, flying from her excited movements; and wild, curious eyes, looking up to escaping dropships before reaching up.

He gasped. "Her. How did - it's her. Years of false leads, and you're back..." Slowly reaching out a blue palm towards the monitors and papers, he soon balled it up and slammed the table. Every face, helmet, and paldron pointed to him.

With a cough, and a moment to carefully consider his words, he looked out to the vast stars. "Yes, I... authorize any weapons and soldiers, to..." Staring at the shaking Ringarde, he gulped. "...*subdue* this cultist. As a trusted... and noble... and absolutely chaste servant of Mankind, I will command this operation myself. I'm not going to lose her again... I mean, after we lost this last skirmish."

His next commands, routing various assault forces, were a touch louder than usual - even for someone as zealous as him. Between this, the sister approached. "I, I too, do greatly - approve, and offer all tools necessary to... Make sure we keep a close eye on her every movement."

With a long, uncomfortable headpat, the commander in azure armor nodded. "Good. With your diligence and pure heart, mixed with advancements of the Magos Biologis, I trust you - more than any man - to carry the battle in close quarters with her, should the need arise."

Ringarde stammered. "Oh, I - I believe that duty - I'm still, er, not skilled at tactics or leadership, compared to many in the Adepta Sororitas, or to your most excellent..."

"You won't command anyone. You'll be our weapon."

***