Chapter 4
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Satisfied with the reward, Guilliman nodded. This golden opportunity was not too bad and could prove useful.
By combining dark matter computer technology with the original Space Marine technology held by Belisarius Cawl, he could create a new batch of warriors to fight against the traitors and the forces of Chaos.
With the existing Space Marines of the Imperium, confronting these Chaos forces indeed felt rather underwhelming.
Most of the time, victories were only achieved by overwhelming numbers.
The casualty rate was dreadfully high, almost unbearable to look at.
Creating such a strong new army could effectively assist him in maintaining the territories of the Human Imperium.
Guilliman had no choice. Either he helps the Human Imperium defeat Chaos, or he ends up enslaved by Chaos.
Run away? Stop dreaming.
The nearest galaxy to the Milky Way is hundreds of thousands of light-years away. Escape?
Without warp drives or navigational maps, how can one escape?
Even if the escape vessel could reach the highest speed limit in the universe, he could not escape.
Using light speed to travel from the Milky Way to other galaxies would take hundreds of thousands of years. If the spaceship malfunctions midway, it results in an endless drift into death.
Escape through warp space is even more dangerous. The Warp is the domain of malevolent gods. Without the protection of the Emperor's Astronomican, the Gellar Field can barely withstand a few days before collapsing.
Without the Gellar Field, one would be utterly at the mercy of these malevolent gods. Another unrealistic aspect of escape is that safety isn't guaranteed elsewhere.
There exists another race in the Warhammer Universe, the Tyranid. This horrifying species, known for consuming everything in its path, came from outside the Milky Way, driven here by other powerful beings. As one can imagine, the situation beyond the Milky Way could be far worse.
Fleeing could be even more heartbreaking. His only options are to win or perish in misery. There is no third option.
"Go and eliminate them," commanded Guilliman as he stepped out, his eyes blazing with terrifying fury, the flaming Sword of the Emperor in his hand becoming more destructive.
Calgar, Celestine, Amarech, and other survivors regrouped and assembled beside Guilliman. The sound of booming gunfire resonated from outside the sanctuary. The Imperial defenders were still fighting, striving to expel the Chaos invaders from their home.
The grand hive city of Macragge was ablaze with battles everywhere. Factories, spaceports, everywhere echoed with the sounds of combat. Space Marines from all over the Imperium, donned in various battle armours, were entangled in a chaotic battle against the forces of Chaos.
The Astra Militarum and the Macragge Home Guard were still firing, making use of street fortifications to shoot down the damn heretics and demons. Laser beams cut through the battlefield, filled with acrid smoke, scorching the monsters and claiming their lives.
But the monsters, heretics, and traitors were so numerous it was hard to fathom. They launched wave after wave against the lines of Imperial loyalists, pushing the defenders back relentlessly.
"For the Chaos Gods, for the ultimate glory, kill!" bellowed a bone-spiked, monstrous heretic, swinging his weapon and rallying the believers to relentlessly attack the defensive lines.
A grotesque man, covered in poisonous tumours, screamed in an unsettling fervour, "For the Father's grace, for the end of all things." Other traitors echoed him, shouting various strange and blasphemous slogans.
Imperial defenders held on desperately, maintaining their crumbling battle lines. Behind them was Macragge's final sanctuary. There was nowhere left to retreat.
Citizens huddled in the sanctuary, praying before the Emperor's statue. "Save us," they pleaded. "Protect us from this wicked onslaught." "Save us." As the sounds of gunfire and the crazed shouts of the forces of Chaos drew closer, their fear intensified.
Once in the hands of the forces of Chaos, even death does not bring respite, but rather, it marks the beginning of another torment. This thought sent shivers down their spines, instilling terror in all of them.
The Astra Militarum commander in charge of the defense of Macragge City's sanctuary was sinking into despair. Facing the onslaught of the Chaos army, he could only try to maximize the potential of every unit in order to buy more time for the defense lines.
Over a hundred regiments were worn down in this meat grinder of a war, and countless soldiers from the Astra Militarum fell on this battlefield. Their only hope was for the Imperial fleet to regain control of the low orbit, as that would be the key to winning the war.
Bodies piled up on the battlefield like mountains, with fresh blood seeping into the ground. The pungent smell of death filled the air. The brutality of the war only made the situation seem more hopeless. No glimpse of victory was in sight.
The connection between the surface and space was severed. No one knew how the battle in space was progressing. Was it a victory, or had they fled?
Green flies buzzed around the battlefield, swarming onto fallen fresh bodies. They burrowed into the flesh to lay eggs, spreading Father Nurgle's gifts of strange viruses and bacteria within, reanimating the corpse into a plague zombie.
The Imperial forces were becoming more dispirited, while the enemy's attack only intensified. The power from the Chaos gods in the warp was manifesting with satisfaction, their sinister whispers tempting the resisting soldiers, trying to drag them from the rotting corpse on the Golden Throne into their sweet garden of hedonism.
"Are we done for?" Despair seeped into the commander's heart as he watched the deteriorating situation. How could they win such a battle? Continuing the fight seemed like a certain death.
They didn't stand a chance of turning the tide.
There was no support from above, no concentration of tanks, no Titan Knights, and no reserve troops. The Astra Militarum commander looked to the sky, where even air superiority had been lost to the enemy. There seemed no hope for victory.
A wave of pessimism spread amongst the defending forces, their faces reflecting despair. Many tightly gripped their weapons, trying to still their bodies shaking from fear.
A few veteran soldiers made the sign of the Aquila, offering their final prayers. As they watched the demons and traitors rally for another attack, they quietly prayed that their souls could rest under the Throne, alongside their fallen comrades.
Then suddenly, the sinister whispers ceased.
Everyone felt an unknown force surge within them, driving away their ailments, fatigue, and despair, infusing them with newfound strength.
The frenzied delight on the faces of the chaotic warriors, demons, and heretics vanished, replaced by sheer, terrible fear.
Roboute Guilliman emerged from the sanctuary, like a wrathful demi-god of war stepping from the divine realm into reality. The Emperor's Sword burned intensely, and wherever its light reached, shadows from the sub-realm retreated, crumbling and fleeing.
"I have returned," Guilliman roared, breaking into a run. Celestine and the others followed closely, charging towards the army of demons and traitors.
They were like a sharp spear, piercing straight into the enemy formation. The moment they made contact, they incited a terrible carnage, with shattered limbs flying everywhere.
"Counterattack, all forces, charge." Seeing the Saint, the Archmagos, and the Chapter Master all guarding a demi-god from the legends, the battlefield commander realized the plan of Belisarius Cawl had succeeded: a Primarch had been resurrected.
Victory was beckoning them. Humanity would prosper, and the glory of the Imperium would be immortal.
Roaring furiously, he commanded the entire army to charge.
"For mankind, for the Emperor."
"For mankind, for the Emperor."
Hearing the command, the soldiers climbed out of the trenches, shouting their oaths, and charged towards the now fearful forces of Chaos.
"For mankind, for the Emperor," a common soldier yelled with all his might. The noxious smoke made him cough violently, but he did not hesitate. He charged towards the nearest heretic, thrusting his mono-molecular bayonet into the enemy.
"Pay the price, traitor." Another soldier, who had climbed out of the trench, fired his lasgun at the enemies he saw, venting his fury.
The situation in Macragge was reversing instantly. The forces of Chaos continuously lost their territories, being crushed by the counterattacking humans.
Roar!
A furious roar echoed. Sensing the failure of the Chaos forces, a heretic, exploiting the lives of the believers, summoned a Greater Daemon engulfed in flames.
The Greater Daemon was massive and powerful, covered in metallic spikes. Its very presence sent shivers down the spine of many.
The followers were drained of their life force instantly and were then consumed by the fire, turning to ash.
"Primarch?" The Greater Daemon, summoned from the sub-realm by sacrifice, detected Guilliman's scent immediately.
Its flaming eyes locked onto Guilliman, fighting on the battlefield.
The skull of a Primarch would make a fine offering to the Blood God. It snarled menacingly, roaring again that shook the world, charging straight at him.