Chapter 21

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The giant was majestic and tall. Just by looking, one could tell that his body contained boundless, surging, terrifying power.

The voice he emitted was like thunder naturally born between heaven and earth, deafening and causing enemies to tremble.

He was a grand god who should only exist in mythology, yet he had come to the mortal world out of pity for human suffering.

The difference in size between the giant and any Space Marine was as significant as the difference between a Space Marine and a regular person.

The dazzling brilliance reflected from his azure armor seemed like the promising light of dawn, offering reassurance, diminishing the sense of despair.

The armor, clearly of extraordinary origin, was a result of countless millennia of meticulous efforts by the top scholars of the Mechanicus, amalgamating numerous advanced technologies.

Covered with numerous runes, what truly caught the eye was the golden Imperial Aquila on the chest plate, set against a background of wheat sheaves.

Behind the haloed giant figure, there flowed a billowing white cloak.

The face revealed above the breastplate was stern and proud, a flawless masterpiece that could only be crafted by the finest artisans.

Even without any action, he radiated an aura of formidable power.

The iron halo behind his head further accentuated his authority and an aura of inviolability.

This godlike figure descended from the heavens and struck down a Plague Marine with a single blow, leaving all enemies stunned and terrified.

His arrival signified victory.

The impact of Guilliman's landing made the earth groan under its burden, shaking the heretics into disarray, instilling fear and unrest.

Many traitors trembled at the sight of a god descending onto the battlefield.

His arrival stunned all the cultists and Plague Marines; the terrifying aura left them bereft of courage.

With his dignified gaze sweeping over the enemies, Guilliman once again marveled at the strength of the Primaris body and the Armor of Fate.

Leaping from a height of sixteen hundred meters, unharmed - the strength of this body was simply superhuman.

If he were to return to his world, nothing could stand in his way.

The high jump was a huge psychological blow to the enemy; they were virtually stupefied.

The situation that seemed entirely in their control was thrown into chaos with the sudden appearance of a Primaris, causing their morale to shatter.

"You cannot change anything, son of the Corpse Emperor, your era has passed."

The Plague Dreadnought, clad in flesh, was the first to roar in rage, firing its gigantic arm-mounted cannon in an attempt to annihilate the Primaris with sheer firepower.

The Iron Halo vibrated subtly, a visible protective force field enveloping Guilliman.

The enemy's artillery could only muster a malicious burst of light upon the shield.

The traitorous Dreadnought's attack was powerless and futile.

There was no way to breach the Primaris's defense.

"Die, traitor!"

Guilliman charged, the flames on the Emperor's Sword burning ever brighter.

Amidst the stunned and incredulous gazes across the battlefield, the Dreadnought, forged of flesh and steel, was pierced by the Primaris with a single stroke of his sword.

Golden flames spread along the blade, fiercely burning on the enemy's body.

"No!"

The decaying body of the Plague Marine champion inside the Dreadnought let out a scream of agony.

Within each Dreadnought was a life-sustaining sarcophagus, colloquially referred to as a living coffin, or stone coffin.

The chamber was used to house warriors whose injuries were beyond repair, enabling them to continue their service despite their shattered bodies.

Maggots infested the flesh, and flies coated the Dreadnought. When exposed to the golden flames, they sizzled and turned to charcoal.

Even the alloy steel melted in the scorching golden flames, becoming molten metal.

Jean stared dumbfounded at the man who seemed like a god, unable to come back to his senses for a long time.

Only the screeching sound of rushing air by his ears roused him from his stunned state.

Thunderhawk gunships roared low over the battlefield, their prow-mounted Turbo-laser destructors unleashing bursts of energy and the underside auto-cannons spraying rounds.

Heretics and renegade soldiers were sent scattering, screaming in terror.

The Thunderhawks left trails of exploding firestorms in their wake, Imperial aircraft rapidly clearing away all enemies with ruthless efficiency.

In the high skies, Stormraven gunships swooped past, performing a saturation bombing on the ground.

High above, spears of light pierced through the pestilent clouds cloaking the planet, turning hundreds of meters around their impact points into charred, vitrified soil.

Plague Zombies, Plague Marines, and Daemon Engines were all obliterated under this divine onslaught.

Jean was slack-jawed, the transition from the brink of despair to a victorious turn of the tide was so sudden, it left him entirely unprepared.

He stared intently at the towering figure clad in azure armor, his face seemed familiar yet he could not recall the man's true identity.

"Is he one of the Emperor's Primarchs? I've seen him next to the Emperor's statue," a little girl whom Jean had saved pointed at the azure figure who swept away all resistance effortlessly.

Like lightning cutting through a fog, clarity dawned in Jean's muddled brain.

"The Primarch, the Emperor's son, the true lord of Ultramar!" realizing the man's identity, Jean stammered.

The other soldiers looked equally shocked. The Primarchs and the Emperor were entities lost to myth.

Ten thousand years were enough to change many things.

Much of the ancient history had been lost to the river of time, obscuring the truth of the past.

Except on their homeworlds, many doubted if the Imperium ever had these wise and powerful beings, who were as gods, the Primarchs.

And now, all doubts would be dispelled.

A real Primarch stood before the world, the best proof one could ask for.

Just like the myths described, they were unstoppable, tearing down anything that dared to stand in their way.

Any enemy attempting to obstruct them would face total annihilation.

Realizing that this planet was saved, a touch of ecstasy flashed across Jean's face, sweeping away the despair and pessimism that had been plaguing him.

"Counter-charge, quickly, counter-charge!"

"Counter-charge, all units that hear my command execute it, quickly, counter-charge. We're going to win!"

Jean shouted with all his strength, issuing commands to all the units he could contact.

After the call, Jean, with his command sword and pistol in hand, prepared to join the charging ranks.

Victory was calling him.

Glory and victory were both beckoning.

Cough! Cough! Cough!

Intense coughing forced him to halt. The pain was so severe, it felt like his lungs might be coughed out.

His body, feeling more fatigued than ever, suddenly felt too tired to move.

Fatigue seeped into every cell, leaving him unable even to stand.

"Are you alright, sir?"

An anxious bodyguard by his side noticed Jean's state and anxiously inquired.

"I'm... I'm... fine,"

Before he could finish his sentence, Jean vomited blood and fell back unconscious.

"Medic, quick, medic."

"Over here, over here."

"Uncle, don't die, uncle."

Jean's vision blurred as the agonized cries of the bodyguard echoed in his ears.

The little girl was shaking his body, her tone full of sorrow.

Several people lifted him, moving him to another location.

Jean didn't know what it was.

It could have been a stretcher or a transport vehicle.

Currently, he was too confused to perceive the outside world, relying only on his sense of hearing and touch.

Some were crying, others shouting.

It seemed that he was not entirely detestable, at least some people would cry for him.

With his brain gradually fogging, Jean found it increasingly difficult to think, but it gave him some small comfort.

Merciful Emperor, forgive my life of incompetence, may I return to your kingdom.

The tormented man sent up his final prayer before plunging into darkness.

Roboute Guilliman strode towards the battlefield, no enemy able to halt him.

Any who tried met their ultimate fate of being torn asunder by him.

The arrival of the Primarch meant victory, an unstoppable victory.

"Over there, my lord," the chief of the Dawnguard's strategium pointed in a direction, "there's an incredibly strong Warp fluctuation. The veil of reality is weakening there. It's likely the site of the enemy's ritual."

Guilliman looked in the indicated direction, where thick plague clouds enshrouded the ruins, giving off an unsettling feeling. His brows furrowed.

"Advance."

He said nothing more, just raised his sword to signal the other soldiers to continue their advance.

After all, the most pressing matter at hand is to stop their ritual.