Nurgelle moved slowly through the Garden where swollen blossoms wept pus and trees cracked under the weight of fungal fruit, her bare feet sinking into wet rot with each heavy step. Plagueflies buzzed around her in adoring halos. A bloated nurglite beast coughed beside her, spitting out a bouquet of moss and bone.

The garden parted for her like diseased flesh before a scalpel.

She arrived at the heart of it: a great bulb of bark and rusted iron, pulsing like a womb in labor. Inside, The Aeldari god Ishan sat in the rusted cage, his wounds already closing, skin regaining its color. Once again had he beat her plague concoction.

Nurgelle leaned forward, tongue sliding between her lips as she cooed with a booming voice, but soft tone.

"You heal so quickly, my sweet. It's...adorable."