Chapter 1: Doomsday Crisis-Warhammer: Crise Apocalíptica desde o Início(O pequeno dragão negro suicida)

Chapter 1: The Doomsday Crisis

"For humanity, for the Emperor!"

A captain half-human and half-mechanical, remade through the technology of the Mechanicus, roared in hysteria. His prosthetic arm crashed onto the console before him, crimson eyes blazing at the power coordinator and the Mechanicus priest guarding the reactor beside him. "All power to the drives. Even if I die, I'll drag them down with me."

The warship was lost. Void shields overloaded, explosions tore through the hull in multiple places, and another salvo would finish it. After the order, the captain flashed a fanatic's smile and roared the vow he had sworn a thousand times.

"For humanity, for the Emperor—forward, forward!"

Under his command, the unprotected ship blazed at the stern, its speed surging as it charged the blood-fleshed Chaos fleet, intent on ramming and mutual destruction.

Space and fate were both cold, merciless, and cruel. Yet neither fate nor the goddess of fortune granted reward to the captain or his crew for their courage. The goddess did not lower her eyes to regard this man full of bravery and sacrifice.

As the Chaos warship loosed a blinding lance of light, the great hull was pierced through. The plasma reactor, at the edge of failure, detonated in fire that blasted through the conduits. The five-kilometer giant vanished into the inferno, shattered in the void. Ten thousand crew members perished; none survived.

"For humanity and the Emperor," the captain shouted his final oath amid the flames.

The warship's death was nothing on the vast space battlefield where thousands of vessels clashed. Light spears, plasma beams, container-sized torpedoes, and high-yield nuclear missiles turned the heavens into a deadly killzone. The war had reached its most desperate hour. Imperial fleets launched repeated counterattacks to seize Makragor's orbit and ferry reinforcements before the ground troops collapsed entirely. Fail, and the trumpet of doom would sound for humanity. The end was coming. This stubborn race would perish.

Makragor's surface burned. Cities lay under unimaginable bombardment. Near-orbit control was lost, gun batteries shattered, tank formations annihilated. Aerial fighters still fought desperately to hold the last air supremacy against demonic vehicles. Terminator squads had been diverted to guard the sanctuary. Only the Makragor Planetary Defence Force remained, battling desperately to hold city and civilians.

The people cowered behind the battered lines of the guardsmen. All able-bodied men and women had been conscripted. Women and children waited in terror for the apocalypse, praying the Emperor would save them and, in death, reclaim their souls before the warp twisted them into monsters.

In the Sanctuary of the Primaris, the most brutal war also raged. This would decide the planet's fate and the galaxy's. "Stop them!" A Chaos warrior in black armor reeking of blood and carnage sneered, his chainsword swinging to bisect soldiers trying to reinforce.

The troops fell like wheat before a scythe, sliced in two, blood staining the sacred floor. "For humanity, for the Emperor!" Unfazed, the soldiers charged with laser rifles blazing, screaming the only cry that sustained them. The Chaos warrior laughed maniacally, cleaving through limbs, his helm twisted in ecstasy. "Blood for the Blood God!" After roaring his allegiance, he lunged, butchering without mercy.

The soldiers advanced relentlessly; their purpose was to buy time for humanity under the Emperor's gaze. The battle inside was fierce and hopeless. The last Terminators, Dark Angels, Deathwatch, and Battle Sisters had been driven to the brink. Saint Celestine's wings were broken, one arm severed, armor shattered, wounds weeping sweet blood. The Battle Sisters were either disintegrated under plasma and frag or torn apart by Chaos and daemons. "Grant me strength, grant me victory. I will walk the world in your name!" Blood flowed from one of her eyes as she chanted the Emperor's name in her heart.

Chaos warriors and daemons surged forward; she held her holy sword steady. "For the Emperor, for humanity!" With a roar, a torrent of golden light erupted—the Emperor's blessing. Demons were hurled back. But more came.

On the blood-soaked field, the Terminator captain Calgar roared. His blue power armor stood out like a beacon. His grenades were spent, his sword broken, only his power fist remained. Boom! A Terminator beside him was obliterated by a meltagun blast, limbs charred and reeking of heat. "Traitors!" The brother's death left Calgar stunned; he roared like an enraged lion, comrades falling around him driving him mad, power fist swinging.

After ripping a Chaos warrior in half, he turned to the high platform. The Mechanicus priest Corvus and the damned xenos were still there. "Was it ultimately impossible?" Despair filled his heart. They could not resurrect the gene-father, the great Primarch. Was everything ending? Was this the end of the mission?

Ten thousand years after the Emperor first ascended the Golden Throne, the Second Warlord of the Chaos Gods, Abaddon, launched the Thirteenth Crusade. With the Black Fortress, he destroyed Cadia, the bulwark against the Eye of Terror, unleashing the Chaos forces from the Great Rift across the galaxy.

The age of the galaxy's decline had arrived. The curse scar had torn the heavens asunder. Monsters poured from the rift, death and ruin in their wake. The nightmares of Old Night returned to every world, bringing endless slaughter and cruel destruction. Apocalyptic forces gathered at an unprecedented scale; no sanctuary remained. Countless worlds fell. Countless mortals wailed and died under the abuse of demons and their Chaos spawn. Humanity faced its greatest crisis. If they failed again, the eternal black night would cover the entire star river. A grand final battle loomed, where good and evil, Chaos and order, would clash and shatter the stars, destroying everything known and familiar. The prophetic psykers already showed despair; this cruel dark galaxy held no future for humanity. This world would plunge into the abyss of despair, humanity becoming a plaything of the Chaos Gods.

With a thunderous crash, the sanctuary was struck again. The second wave of Chaos drop pods, engulfed in flame, slammed into the dome. With a screech, they opened, unleashing hundreds of traitorous Space Marines who joined the fray, deployed as the Chaos commander's trump card, instantly shattering the defenders' lines.

Despair swallowed the warriors whole. "For humanity, for the Emperor!" They roared their final desperate cries, facing death with grim resolve, vowing to drag as many besiegers into hell as possible. Darkness had fallen; the trumpet of doom sounded, the end was near.

Just as the final life-and-death clash between the two sides was about to erupt, a clear, resonant note rang out like a bell. The automaton's mouth opened like a maw, music flowing from its frame. A towering, imposing figure appeared.

After ten thousand years of slumber, the last light of salvation for humanity, the Empire's final hope, the Emperor's thirteenth son—the gene-father embodying loyalty, hope, and mercy, Roboute Guilliman—opened his eyes amid the drawn blades.

He stared at the scene before him, confusion and bewilderment in his gaze. Was this a game? How had he woken up here? The flood of memories washed over him, and he understood everything instantly. A thousand grass-mud horses galloped through his mind.

Fuck!

How did this happen??

This ruthless Guilliman is also from my book, starting with the same Guilliman awakening scene. Different plot development.

To make a living, I have many sockpuppets.

This time, no warp travel until the galaxy is finished, no warp drive before completing the galaxy game before the Warhammer 40k universe, no preemptively opening other universes and multiversal wars.

(Chapter ends)