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'The seed has been well planted. I can feel spines curving in crookbacked pain, straight shoulders lurching 'neath the weight of newly grown mounds. I hear the sound of diseased bellies bloating near to bursting, straining as they fill with glorious fumes. The sprouting of bulbous growths is like a divine chorus. Rotflies buzz, their mating song ensuring worm-spores will soon burrow out of flesh in their writhing multitudes. And the smells... oh, the smells! They are best of all. I detect an air of pungent necrosis, sweet like the glorious wafts from overripe fruit, yet underneath there resides a sour tang of spoiled milk. The scent is so rich I can almost taste it. Yes, my children, my splendid children - we have done good work here. This world will be a fine addition to Grandfather's garden. I congratulate you all on your earnest efforts.'
— Lord Guttrol, commander of the Bacillus Legion, upon viewing the aftermath of his Rot Legion's attack upon Iax in Ultramar
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