Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

Guilliman, now fully awakened and infused with the memories of his host body, found himself unable to suppress the sheer absurdity of his situation. A hundred thousand muddy horses galloped past his mind, but the reality before him was no joke.

In mere moments, the fog of confusion cleared, and he understood everything—the universe he had been thrust into, the nightmare that was the Warhammer 40K reality. It was a world of chaos, where survival was the only goal, and victory meant simply enduring another day.

This was the Imperium of Man. A civilization that had survived in the hostile void of space for over 40,000 years, enduring the Golden Age, the Age of Rebellion, the Age of Long Night, the Great Crusade, the Horus Heresy, and the long, grueling 10,000-year reign of the Imperium. Now, however, the galaxy teetered on the brink of absolute annihilation.

The Imperium's greatest threat was none other than Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos, a pawn of the four chaos gods of the Warp. For ten millennia, Abaddon had led twelve Black Crusades, eroding the seals that kept the powers of Chaos at bay. His thirteenth crusade had shattered the final line of defense—the Cadia fortress—unleashing the horrors of the Warp into reality.

The Eye of Terror expanded uncontrollably, dividing the Imperium in two. Countless worlds were overrun by demons and traitors, and the Imperium now resembled a blood-drained colossus. Humanity's extinction loomed.

And Guilliman had awakened at this moment, thrust into a battlefield amid impossible odds.

A low hum of grinding chain saws dragged him back to the present. In the dark, blood-soaked hall, the forces of Chaos—warriors, demons, and unspeakable horrors—stood before him. His body, now a fusion of mortal and Primarch essence, felt strangely familiar. The sacred blade of the Emperor, a holy sword crackling with divine fire, rested in his grip, brought here by Archmagos Belisarius Cawl.

The sword roared to life as Guilliman grasped it. Golden flames danced along the blade, casting radiant light across the battlefield. He felt the immense power coursing through him, and for the first time, he realized just how much of a demigod his new body truly was.

The battlefield fell silent.

Loyalist Space Marines, bloodied yet unbroken, stared at him in awe. Their gazes carried the fragile hope of salvation. Even the forces of Chaos—demons and traitors alike—hesitated in their relentless bloodlust. Despite ten millennia of slumber, the presence of a Primarch still instilled dread in their cursed souls.

The silence shattered as a Khorne Berserker charged forward, roaring with bloodlust. His jagged axe gleamed with the cursed blessings of the Blood God, and his intent was clear: to claim Guilliman's soul for Khorne.

Guilliman moved.

To the ordinary eye, it was faster than thought. Only the psychic Spirit Warriors, with their enhanced reflexes, saw the fiery arc of his blade as it cleaved through the Berserker's torso. The traitor's body fell to the ground, split in two.

The spell of silence broke. With guttural roars of hatred, the forces of Chaos surged forward, hell-bent on tearing him apart.

Guilliman charged into the fray, his blade cutting through the Chaos ranks like a scythe through wheat. Ultramarines, Dark Templars, and warriors from other chapters rallied around him, their spirits reinvigorated by his presence. His every strike burned with divine fury, turning demons to ash and obliterating traitorous Space Marines in a rain of shattered armor and scorched flesh.

"For humanity, for the Emperor, for my father!" roared Marneus Calgar as he crushed a traitor's skull with his Power Fist. His war cry echoed through the hall, inspiring the defenders to fight harder.

Amid the chaos, Celestine, the Living Saint, fought tirelessly. One arm broken, her body battered, yet the fire of faith burned within her. Guilliman's return seemed to ignite something in her soul, and she prayed silently, her blade cutting down heretics and demons alike.

The battle raged on, but Guilliman's wrath was unstoppable. The holy sword, an extension of his fury, moved with precision and power, each strike severing another enemy. Traitorous psykers, the very ones who had opened the gates for the demonic onslaught, fell quickly, their Warp-touched powers crumbling under the blade's divine light.

In the first strike, a fallen Space Marine was cleaved in two. His Terminator armor, once a symbol of nearly indestructible power, was torn through effortlessly, unable to withstand the might of Guilliman's holy blade.

The second strike followed without hesitation. A demon, its form twisted by the taint of Chaos, was cleaved as well. Dark, cursed blood gushed from its severed body, but the Emperor's sword burned with such divine fury that the demon's very soul was consumed. It was eradicated, its essence unable to return to the Warp.

With a speed that blurred the senses, Guilliman unleashed the third strike, then the fourth, each one faster than the last. The air crackled with power, and to those watching—if they were even capable of tracking such speed—only afterimages remained in the wake of his blows. His blade moved like lightning, a blur of radiant destruction as the enemies before him were cut down in rapid succession, their defenses utterly irrelevant.

The Primarch carved through the battlefield like a storm incarnate. Chaos champions who had once terrorized entire systems fell like wheat before the reaper. In moments, the tide turned, and the Imperium began to gain the upper hand.

Guilliman finally stood amidst the carnage, his golden armor tarnished with the ichor of the fallen. The last demon in the sanctum fell beneath his blade, its soul consumed by the Emperor's holy fire.

As the battlefield grew quiet, Guilliman's thoughts raced. He needed to reorganize the forces, reconnect with Macragge, and take back what was lost.

Then, a crisp, otherworldly voice echoed in his mind:

[Host detected as compatible. Activating master template, database, and auxiliary assistant.

The host may ask questions. The assistant will respond to the best of its ability.]

Guilliman froze. A cheat system? Was this his golden ticket to salvation? Ten consecutive draws? A path to ascension in mere days? The thought brought a flicker of hope.

"What abilities do you offer?" he asked without hesitation. He couldn't afford to waste time. In a universe this cruel, understanding his advantage was the first step to survival—and perhaps, domination.

The assistant's presence in his mind marked the beginning of something greater. It was the foundation upon which he could forge humanity's resurgence.

For the Emperor. For mankind. For the future.

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