Chapter 23: It Must Be Stopped
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Chapter 23: It Must Be Stopped
His body was magnificent and towering. One need only look at him to know that the giant’s frame contained boundless, surging, terrifying power.
His voice was like thunder born naturally between heaven and earth—deafening, making his enemies tremble with unease.
He was a majestic deity who should have existed only in myth, yet had come into the mortal world out of compassion for the suffering of humanity.
The difference in size between the giant and any Space Marine was as striking as that between a Space Marine and an ordinary man.
The radiance reflected from his azure armor resembled the dawnlight of hope, bringing comfort and making people feel less despairing.
The armor was clearly extraordinary in origin. It was the culmination of ten thousand years of painstaking work by the Mechanicus’ greatest sages, incorporating countless advanced technologies.
Its surface was covered in numerous runes, but the most eye-catching feature was the golden Imperial aquila at the center of the breastplate, set against a backdrop of sheaves of wheat.
Behind the imposing figure, which radiated a halo of light, a pristine white cloak streamed and snapped in the wind.
The face visible above the breastplate was cold and proud, like the flawless work of the greatest master craftsman.
Even standing motionless, he possessed an oppressive majesty that inspired awe without anger.
The iron halo behind his head further accentuated his dignity and his inviolable presence.
The god descended from the heavens and slew a Plague Marine with a single stroke of his sword, leaving every enemy stunned and terrified.
His arrival signified victory.
The impact of Guilliman’s landing made the earth groan beneath the strain, throwing the cultists off balance and leaving them in a state of panic.
Many traitors trembled at the sight of a god descending upon the battlefield.
His arrival left the cultists and Plague Marines frozen in place. The terrible pressure of his presence stripped them of their courage.
Guilliman swept the enemy with his naturally imperious gaze, once again marveling inwardly at the might of the Primarchs and the Armor of Fate.
He had leaped from a height of sixteen hundred meters, and nothing had happened to him.
Such physical strength made him a genuine little superman.
If he ever returned to his own world, he would be able to kill any man who stood in his way, and even slay a Buddha who blocked his path.
A direct leap from such a height delivered a tremendous psychological blow to the enemy. Most of them were completely dumbfounded.
They had believed victory was already in their grasp, only for a Primarch to suddenly appear. Their minds were on the verge of collapse.
“You cannot change anything, son of the Corpse Emperor. Your era is over.”
The flesh-covered Plague Dreadnought was the first to roar. The massive cannons mounted on its arms opened fire in a frenzy, attempting to annihilate a Primarch through sheer firepower.
The iron halo trembled faintly, and a visible protective field enveloped Guilliman.
The enemy’s artillery could do nothing but stir vicious flames across the field shield.
The traitor Dreadnought’s attack was feeble and futile.
It had no hope of breaking through the Primarch’s defenses.
“Die, traitor.”
Guilliman strode forward. The flames surging from the Emperor’s Sword grew ever more brilliant.
Under the astonished and incredulous gaze of the entire battlefield, the Dreadnought—cast from flesh and steel—was pierced through by a single thrust of the Primarch’s sword.
Golden flames spread along the blade and erupted into a violent blaze across the enemy’s body.
“No!”
The mangled remains of the Plague Marine champion within the Dreadnought sarcophagus let out a scream.
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Every Dreadnought contained a nutrient tank, known as a living coffin or sarcophagus.
It housed the mutilated remains of warriors who had suffered grievous wounds and lay close to death, their bodies too ruined to repair, allowing them to continue serving.
The maggot-infested flesh and flies covering the Dreadnought crackled as the golden flames consumed them, reducing everything to charred remains.
Even the armored alloy melted beneath the searing golden fire, becoming molten metal.
Jian stared dumbfounded at the man who resembled a god, unable to recover for a long time.
Only when the shriek of rushing air sounded beside his ear did he raise his head from his stupor.
A boxy Thunderhawk roared past at low altitude. The assault cannon extending from the front of its cockpit unleashed explosive beams, while the automatic cannons beneath it swept the ground with fire.
Cultists and traitor soldiers fled in every direction, howling in terror as they were suppressed.
Wherever the Thunderhawk gunship passed, it left behind a sea of explosions and fire. The Imperial Air Force cleared away the enemy with astonishing efficiency.
High above, aircraft such as Stormbirds swept across the sky, raining down saturation bombardments upon the ground.
In the heavens, lance after lance of light pierced the plague clouds covering the entire planet. When they struck the ground, they turned everything within a radius of several hundred meters into charred, vitrified ruins.
The plague-ridden dead, Plague Marines, and daemon engines were all annihilated beneath attacks that seemed like the wrath of heaven itself.
Jian stood there in stunned disbelief. The sudden reversal from the brink of death to a victorious battlefield had come so abruptly that he was utterly unprepared for it.
He stared intently at the imposing giant clad in azure armor. The face seemed strangely familiar, yet he could not recall the man’s true identity.
“Is he the Emperor’s archangel? I saw him beside a statue of the Emperor.”
The little girl Jian had rescued pointed toward the blue figure as he swept across the battlefield, destroying every enemy with irresistible force.
Jian’s dazed mind cleared in an instant, like lightning flashing through a fog.
“A Primarch. The Emperor’s son—the true Lord of Ultramar.”
Once he realized the man’s identity, Jian could barely speak.
The other soldiers wore similarly astonished expressions. The Primarchs and the Emperor had long since become legends beyond the reach of history.
Ten thousand years was long enough for countless things to lose their original shape.
Much ancient history had vanished into the river of time, making the truth of the past impossible to recover.
Aside from the home worlds of the Primarchs, many people even doubted that the Imperium had ever truly possessed such powerful, wise, godlike beings.
Now, all doubt would be shattered.
A true Primarch had appeared before the people of the Imperium. That alone was the strongest proof.
Just as the myths described, they were unstoppable, destroying everything before them with overwhelming force.
Any enemy who attempted to stand in their way would be utterly annihilated.
Realizing that the planet had been saved, Jian’s face lit up with elation. The despair and pessimism in his heart were swept away.
“Counterattack! Quickly, counterattack!”
“All units that can hear my orders are to carry them out! Counterattack! Quickly, counterattack—we are going to win!”
Jian shouted with all his strength, issuing orders to every unit he could contact.
Afterward, he took up his command sword and pistol, preparing to join the advancing troops.
Victory was calling to him.
Glory and triumph were calling as well.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
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The violent coughing forced him to stop. The agony was so wrenching that he felt as though he might cough up his own lungs.
His body suddenly became weaker than it had ever been, and he felt so exhausted that he could no longer move.
Fatigue seeped into every cell, leaving him unable even to stand.
“Are you all right, Commander?”
The bodyguard beside him looked tense and asked anxiously.
“I’m not—no, I—”
Before he could finish, Jian spat out a mouthful of blood and fell backward.
“Medic! Quickly, medic!”
“Over here! Over here!”
Jian’s vision blurred. The anguished shouts of his bodyguards rang in his ears.
The little girl shook his body, her voice filled with grief.
Several people lifted him and carried him somewhere else.
Jian did not know what it was.
It might have been a stretcher, or perhaps a troop carrier.
His mind was muddled. His awareness of the outside world had grown faint, leaving him dependent only on his hearing and sense of touch.
Some people were crying. Others were shouting.
It seems I am not entirely hated. At least someone will cry for me.
As his thoughts gradually drifted away and thinking became more and more difficult, Jian reflected on this.
It brought him a small measure of comfort.
“Merciful Emperor, forgive this useless life of mine. May I return to Your kingdom.”
The tormented man uttered his final prayer, and then darkness swallowed him.
Guilliman strode toward the battlefield. No enemy could stop him.
Any who tried met the same final fate: being torn apart by his hands.
The arrival of a Primarch meant victory—unstoppable victory.
“My lord, over there.” The Chief Librarian of the Dawnstar Chapter pointed in a certain direction. “Extremely powerful warp fluctuations are emanating from that area. The veil of reality is weakening. The enemy’s ritual is very likely taking place there.”
Guilliman looked toward the indicated direction. Dense plague clouds shrouded the ruins, vaguely radiating an unsettling presence. He frowned.
“Advance.”
He said nothing more. He merely raised the sword in his hand, signaling the other warriors to continue forward.
Whatever else happened, stopping the enemy’s ritual was the most important task at hand.
The recommendation votes have exceeded one hundred, so I owe everyone another chapter. I will make up all owed chapters on the day this work is recommended.
End of Chapter
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