Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

Guilliman confirmed the reward with a nod.

This power wasn't too shabby, it was at least usable.

By combining dark matter computing technology with the Primal Cast Space Marine tech in the hands of the mechanical sage, Belisarius Cauer, he could forge a new batch of warriors to battle against the traitors and Chaos forces.

The original forces of the Empire, while formidable, were lacking in the face of the chaotic forces. More often than not, victories were won through sheer numbers, and the casualties were so heavy it was unbearable to witness.

Being able to create powerful, new-style troops would significantly bolster his efforts to maintain the empire's territories.

Guilliman knew that his choices were limited. Either he helped the Empire triumph over Chaos, or he would be enslaved by Chaos.

Escape? It was nothing but a dream.

The nearest galaxy to the Milky Way was hundreds of thousands of light-years away—how could he escape? Without the Astronomican and no navigation charts, there was no way out.

Even if a ship could reach its maximum speed, there was no chance of survival. Flying at the speed of light would still take hundreds of thousands of years, and if the ship broke down along the way, it would drift helplessly to its demise.

Attempting to flee through the Warp was even more dangerous. The Warp is ruled by the Chaos gods, and without the Emperor's Astro Torch, Geller's force field would collapse within days. Without the force field, the horrors of the Warp could destroy him at will.

And then, there was the issue of the outside world—not necessarily safer than the Milky Way. The Tyranids, a terrifying race that devours everything in its path, had once fled into the galaxy, hunted by even greater powers.

Who could say that the galaxies outside the Milky Way were any better?

Fleeing would only lead to greater desolation.

In the end, it was clear—he had no choice but to fight or die.

"Go out and clear them," Guilliman commanded, stepping out with a fierce resolve. The flames of the Emperor's Sword intensified, burning brighter with each passing moment.

Calgar, Celestine, Amarici, and the other survivors quickly gathered around him, preparing for battle.

Outside the sanctuary, the booming sounds of artillery echoed. The Imperial defenders were still in combat, struggling to push back the Chaos invaders from their homeworld.

Macragge City, a once magnificent hive city, was now a battlefield—factories and spaceports were engulfed in the chaos of war. Space Marines from all over the Empire, wearing different armors, fought against the chaos forces with everything they had.

The Star Phantoms and the Macragge Guards held the line, using street defenses to shoot at the cultists and demons. Laser beams cut through the battlefield, igniting the monsters and killing them.

But there were too many—monsters, cultists, traitors—an endless sea of enemies that overwhelmed the defenders. Wave after wave of the enemy charged forward, forcing the Imperial line to fall back steadily.

"For the gods of Chaos, for the supreme glory, kill!" The cultists, their bodies covered in bone spurs, waved weapons and screamed, rallying their followers to charge the defenders.

A monstrous man, his body covered with tumors, shouted with fervor, "For the gift of the loving father, for the end of all things."

The Imperial defenders clung to their positions, their backs against the last shelter of Macragge City. They had no choice but to hold firm.

The people huddled in fear, praying to the statue of the Emperor. "Save us," they begged. "Protect us from these evils."

The artillery blasts and the frenzied cries of the Chaos forces drew closer with each passing moment. They knew that if Chaos claimed the city, death would be only the beginning of their torment.

The commander of the Astral Army, overseeing the defense of the city, sank into despair. Against the tide of Chaos, he could only scrape together whatever forces remained, hoping for a miracle.

Hundreds of regiments had already been worn down, countless soldiers fallen in battle. The only hope left was that the Imperial Fleet could take back control of low-Earth orbit, but even that felt like a long shot.

The battlefield was a nightmare—a mountain of corpses, dark red blood staining the earth, and the air filled with a stench that made the defenders gag.

Victory seemed impossible.

The connection between the surface and space was severed, leaving the fate of the battle in orbit uncertain. Would the fleet arrive in time, or would they be forced to flee?

The noise of the battle was interrupted by the eerie hum of green flies buzzing over the bodies of the fallen. These foul creatures swarmed over the corpses, laying eggs in the flesh, spreading viruses and diseases, turning the dead into plague-ridden horrors.

The defenders' morale continued to plummet, and the enemy's assault grew ever stronger. The whispers from the Warp seemed to invade the soldiers' minds, driving them toward despair, urging them to abandon their resistance, to fall into the embrace of the evil gods.

"Are we doomed?" The commander asked, his heart sinking as he watched his forces falter. It felt like a hopeless struggle, one they couldn't win.

Without high-altitude fire support, no tanks or reinforcements, there was no chance of turning the tide.

The commander gazed up at the sky—the enemy had seized air superiority. They were doomed.

Despair spread like a contagion through the defenders. Faces filled with fear, hands gripped weapons tightly in a last attempt to steady themselves.

Some veterans made the eagle salute, offering silent prayers to their fallen comrades. They fought for the Emperor, hoping for a swift end, hoping their souls would join those who had already fallen.

And then, the whispers stopped.

An unknown force surged through their bodies, dispelling their pain, exhaustion, and fear, making them feel stronger, more alive.

The once-ecstatic faces of the Chaos warriors, demons, and cultists froze in terror. The source of their dread had arrived.

Guilliman emerged from the sanctuary, a demigod of war stepping into the fray. The Emperor's Sword burned with fury, and wherever its light touched, the shadows of the Warp retreated in fear.

Guilliman uttered a battle cry, charging into the battle. Celestine, Calgar, and the others followed closely behind, a force of nature unleashed upon the enemy.

Like a spear piercing through their ranks, they tore into the Chaos forces. The battle turned in an instant. Limbs flew and blood spilled as they fought with unrelenting fury.

"Counterattack! All units, charge!" The battlefield commander saw the saints, the chapter master, and the Primarch himself leading the charge, and realized Belisarius Cauer's plan had succeeded—the Emperor's son had returned.

Victory was within their grasp. Humanity would thrive once more, and the glory of the Empire would live on.

"For humanity, for the Emperor!" The defenders roared in unison, climbing out of the trenches to join the charge.

"For humanity, for the Emperor!" they shouted, their voices filled with renewed strength.

"Pay the price, traitor!" a soldier screamed as he stormed toward the nearest cultist, bayonet raised high.

"Die, Chaos filth!" Another soldier fired his lasgun into the enemy ranks, letting out his rage.

The tides of battle had shifted in an instant. The Chaos forces were on the retreat, losing the ground they had once held.

Roar!

The Chaos cultists, realizing their impending defeat, sacrificed their own lives to summon a massive demon, one wreathed in flames.

The demon appeared, towering over the battlefield, its form covered in bone spurs, radiating an aura of dread. The ground trembled with every step it took, and its gaze locked onto Guilliman.

The massive demon let out a bone-chilling roar, its eyes fixed on the Primarch. It could smell his presence, and it would stop at nothing to claim his skull as a trophy for the Blood God.

The battle was far from over.

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