Chapter 22
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Victory follows wherever Roboute Guilliman goes, with no enemy able to stand in his way.
His primordial body is formidable, capable of annihilating all vile enemies with ease and proclaiming the arrival of the Empire upon the skulls of his adversaries.
The Armor of Fate and the Iron Halo shield Guilliman from all enemy attacks, with explosive bombs or malicious thermal rays blocked by his powerful force field.
Terrifying impacts and energy are either annihilated or deflected.
A Plague Marine falls mercilessly under his blade, its bloated body oozing putrid liquid and flesh teeming with maggots.
Upon hitting the ground, it bursts into golden flames.
The rotten, foul-smelling blood burns on the battlefield, its brilliant golden light so resplendent that even the foulest souls are thoroughly purified by the Emperor's will.
Upon witnessing the arrival and dominance of the Primarch, the other Plague Marines roar in rage. They attempt to rally together, seeking to defeat a Primarch with their numbers.
The Honor Guard, however, stands resolute in protecting the Primarch, ensuring he never fights alone.
Clad in Terminator armor, they form a battle circle centered around Guilliman.
To attack the Primarch, they must first break through this defense.
Their planning falls apart before it even begins.
Each member of the Honor Guard is a veteran warrior, possessing unparalleled war experience and clad in heavy Terminator armor.
To break their line and ambush Guilliman is a delusional dream.
Even if they could barely break through the battle circle formed by the Honor Guard, the Plague Marines would likely suffer heavy casualties. Guilliman would easily reap them, and their plans to ambush the Primarch would fail before they even begin.
The traitors can only watch helplessly as the Primarch slaughters their comrades like a tiger among sheep.
The teamwork between Guilliman and the Honor Guard is invincible. In their face, the defensive line built by the Plague Marines is as frail as paper.
Under their fierce onslaught, Plague Marines fall continuously.
Forced by the Primarch's might, the Plague Marines' defense continues to shrink, on the brink of complete annihilation.
At this moment, Sicarius also arrives from the outskirts of the ruins, becoming the final straw that breaks the enemy's back.
He leads a team that destroys the enemy's anti-aircraft and long-range firepower, providing a safe landing spot for the Adeptus Astartes, Titans, and Knights.
The addition of Sicarius and his group hastened the Plague Marines' defeat.
It even transformed into a one-sided slaughter.
The Imperium was steadily gaining victory; the Chaos faction's defeat was inevitable.
"Your end is nigh, traitor," said Sicarius, anger flashing in his eyes as he saw a Plague Marine standing up from the trenches, trying to stop the loyalists with his bomb gun. His voice resonated from under his helmet, echoing around him. Sicarius charged through the battlefield towards the Plague Marine who kept shooting, the power sword in his hand humming with energy.
Cultists in his path were cleared away by his exquisite swordsmanship, their bodies adorned with cursed runes shattered under the power sword.
The Plague Marine attempting to halt him swung and missed, only to have his leg cut by Sicarius's blade.
With a wounded thigh, the Plague Marine lost his balance and fell to his knees.
Sicarius pointed his bomb gun at the enemy's helmet and said, "Repent for your sins," before blowing the enemy's head off.
Surveying the battlefield, he quickly found his next target. The enemy was firing a meltagun, reducing the upper body of a loyal Astartes to a steaming half-corpse.
Sicarius ran again, determined to avenge his fallen comrade.
Soon, that Plague Marine was also slain.
Without any hesitation, Sicarius continued to fight.
The battlefield became a stage for this brave warrior's swordplay; no enemy could escape his expert skills.
His gaze was as the grim reaper's judgment; those he fixed his eyes on were condemned to death.
A Plague Marine was slashed by Guilliman, becoming a golden torch and collapsing to the ground in agony.
In his last moments, he begged for salvation from the Dark Father.
However, before the Emperor's will, even the Dark Gods had to step back. His flesh and soul were destined to be incinerated.
"Sicarius, how are things on your end?" Guilliman asked on the communication channel.
"All is well, my lord, the traitors are in retreat, victory is imminent," Sicarius replied.
"Good, stay alert. The ritual of the traitors is sinister; even I can feel the warp boiling with their malevolence, something is being summoned," Guilliman warned.
"Fear not, my lord," Sicarius shouted through the communicator, after a moment adding, "I can see a tower made of piled-up corpses, the traitors are drawing back their defenses to protect it."
"Destroy them, every heretic deserves death, and destroy any anomalies as well," Guilliman commanded in a powerful, somber voice. "Let the air force provide you with some support to break their lines."
The Imperial forces were advancing from all directions; they were unstoppable.
Gurlo, standing atop the ruins, had a clear view and understood that if this continued, he would lose. The Imperium was advancing faster than he had anticipated.
"How much longer until the ritual is ready?" Gurlo asked his second-in-command in a hoarse voice.
"Not much longer. The warp has responded to us, but it still needs some preparation time."
Gurlo turned to assess the battlefield, then shouted, "Deploy the plague bombs. Let them taste our power."
At Gurlo's command, daemon engines, grotesque with flesh, were pushed out by plague marines. Bloated plague beasts were stuffed into the cannons of the engines and launched. These plague beasts, cultivated using the power of Nurgle, Father of Decay, have consumed countless terrible plagues. A simple touch would instantly kill a mortal, transforming them into plague zombies in seconds.
Thud, thud, thud!
Several bloated, tentacled, and multi-eyed plague beasts were hurled over the ranks of the loyalists and then exploded. The corrupted filth rained down onto the Imperial troops. Many warriors couldn't dodge in time, and the filth splashed onto their armor, causing the ceramite to bubble and hiss.
Terminators, their honor guard, didn't fare too badly. The sheer thickness of their terminator armor and the protective energy fields shielded them. The loyalist marines in standard power armor, however, fared worse. Their armor structures were corroded by the deadly bacteria, sparks sputtering from them as they stumbled, some even crying out in pain.
Roboute Guilliman alone was unaffected. The filth evaporated before it could touch him, disintegrated by an invisible force field. This power emanated not only from the armor's own defense but also contained a hint of a mysterious force, protecting him from the corruption of the warp.
"Brothers seriously wounded, fall back and receive treatment from the chaplains. Everyone else, find cover. Call in the Titans to crush this trash," Cikarus shouted, making a temporary tactical adjustment.
The plague marines, just beginning to celebrate their momentary halt of the Imperial advance, were quickly left stunned. The ground shook as the Emperor-Class Titans, known as the Wrath of Gods, approached from a distance. These behemoths are the most formidable weapons on the battlefield.
Powered by giant plasma reactors supplying energy to their building-sized cannons, a single shot could break any line. The plague marines broke before the Emperor-Class Titans. A plasma beam, several meters wide and emitting lethal heat, swallowed everything. Nothing could withstand such slaughter, not even the plague marines, despite being the Emperor's finest creations and blessed by the Dark Gods.
Standing atop the ruins, Guilliman could clearly see the state of affairs, understanding that if things continued in this manner, he would lose. The pace of the Imperial advancement was far quicker than he had anticipated.
"How much longer does the ritual require?" Guilliman turned to his second-in-command, asking in a raspy voice.
"It will be ready soon. The Warp has responded to us, but it needs a bit more time to prepare."
Guilliman turned his gaze back to the battlefield, assessed the situation, and then yelled, "Release the Plague Bomb. Let them taste its might."
With Guilliman's order, a daemon engine, covered in flesh, was pushed out by plague warriors. Plump, plague beasts were stuffed into the cannon of the daemon engine, which launched them into the air. These beasts were bred by the power of Nurgle, the Plague God, and had devoured countless terrifying diseases.
One touch would instantly plague any ordinary person, transforming them into a plague zombie within seconds. Boom, boom, boom! A few grotesque plague beasts, bloated and covered in tentacles and bizarre eyes, were hurled above the ranks of the loyalists. They exploded, spreading a rain of corrupt filth onto the imperial troops below.
Many soldiers failed to dodge in time. The filth that splattered onto their ceramite armor caused it to bubble and hiss. The Honoured Guards clad in Terminator Armor didn't suffer too much damage, protected by their armor's sheer thickness and force fields.
However, the loyalist soldiers in standard power armor were not so fortunate. Their armor was corroded by the deadly bacteria, sparks flying out. They staggered, some of them even crying out in pain. Only Guilliman remained unaffected.
The corrupt filth evaporated before it could reach Guilliman, consumed by an invisible force field. This protective force was not purely from his armor's defense. It contained a mysterious power, shielding him from the contamination of the Warp.
"Seriously wounded brothers, fall back and receive treatment from the Chaplain. Others, find cover. Let those fellows bring in the Titans to crush this garbage," yelled Sicarius, making a temporary tactical adjustment.
The Plague Warriors, initially pleased at halting the imperial advance, were instantly shocked. The ground shook as the Emperor-Class Titans, also known as the Wrath of the Gods, marched from the distance. These monstrous machines were the most terrifying weapons on the battlefield.
Their built-in gigantic plasma reactors powered their building-sized cannons. One strike could shatter any line of defense. The Plague Warriors fell before the Emperor-Class Titans. A beam of plasma, several meters thick and releasing deadly heat, consumed everything. Nothing could resist such slaughter. Even the Plague Warriors, the most outstanding creations of the Emperor, blessed by the Dark Gods, couldn't withstand it.
Yet, before the destructive beams, they were like ants, effortlessly annihilated.
Sicarius and the others advanced under the cover of the Emperor-Class Titans, launching a final charge along with the rest of the Astral Knights.
On Guilliman's side, things were faster. Even without Titan support, he easily broke through the enemy lines with his immense strength. He saw the tower, a construction made from stacks of flesh and blood.
The cultists, completely corrupted and deranged, circled the fleshy tower, their faces a mix of fervor and excitement.
"It's Entropy, the Great Father. Praise him."
"Oh, merciful Father."
"Wonderful life. Wonderful."
Beyond the excited, utterly chaotic cultists, Guilliman's gaze fell upon the leader of the rebellion atop the tower of flesh.
He wore a horned helmet and a suit of Destroyer Centurion Power Armor that had only emerged after the Heresy in the 36th millennium.
The traitorous Space Marines weren't only from ten thousand years ago. Some had been oppressed by the Terran Council, corrupted by Chaos, or pushed to rebellion by the Ecclesiarchy over the millennia.
Guilliman's eyes glowed with rage. The golden flames of the Emperor's sword in his hand blazed brighter.
Guilliman also looked down upon the original body, his eyes filled with pride.
"You are late, the Son of the Corpse Emperor. This world now belongs to Nurgle, belongs to the Father," said the head of the rebellion.
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