Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

The burning Emperor's Sword descended with divine fury, slashing downward upon the demon's head. In a desperate, instinctive motion, the demon raised its weapon to block, but the sword cut through it like butter, cleaving the weapon in half. A blazing arm, engulfed in infernal flames, was severed cleanly from the demon's body.

Even though this creature had once been human, the blessings granted by the Chaos gods had transformed it into something far beyond its original form. It now possessed unimaginable power and a body far stronger than any mortal's.

Guilliman couldn't begin to count how many human worlds this particular demon had slaughtered over the past ten millennia. How many skulls it had contributed to the blood god Khorne, earning the demon god's favor, elevating it from a mere human to a Chaos demon.

Ordinary Star Militia units would never stand a chance against a traitor who had ascended into demonhood. Even the Emperor's Angels—the space marines revered as his champions—needed psychic guidance to deal with such a creature.

Only the Grey Knights, the elite warriors of the Imperium, who specialize in battling the forces of Chaos, were dispatched to handle demons. Even they faced brutal losses, with no guarantee of victory. The terror these great demons instilled was beyond comprehension. A powerful Tzeentch daemon could warp the very fabric of the galaxy, extinguishing entire stars.

A demon of this caliber warranted an Exterminatus order, a decree that called for the annihilation of an entire planet. This meant using weapons like Cyclone Torpedoes and Light Spears to utterly obliterate the planet's surface—until not even a blade of grass remained.

It's clear that great demons of the Warp were forces of unimaginable power.

However, in front of Guilliman, this demon was as weak as a child. The Primarch's strike, fueled by the Emperor's holy might, cleaved through the demon's arm with ease, rendering it crippled and broken.

No matter how the demon screamed in fury, there was no undoing the damage done. It had lost both its weapon and its arm in an instant.

The demon's yellow-brown eyes were wide with disbelief, as it struggled to comprehend the horror it had just experienced. It was as though it had just awakened from a long slumber. Was this truly the same Primarch it had heard of—a being who, millennia ago, had not possessed the strength to land a single blow to a demon?

The demon's mind was reeling. It had fought and killed for thousands of years, ascending through the ranks of Khorne's favored minions, but now it faced Guilliman—a Primarch who had not only outlasted the passage of time but had returned even stronger.

The thought that something so powerful had once been a mortal seemed impossible. Guilliman was no mere warrior; he was an Emperor's son, a being forged by the Emperor himself, and his strength was magnified by the collective belief of the Imperium's billions of worshipers.

This power, akin to that of a god, was an overwhelming force.

Celistine, Amariqi, and the others were just as stunned by Guilliman's prowess as the demon. They had heard of the power of the Primarchs, but seeing it in action was beyond anything they had imagined. One strike had utterly crippled a great daemon, a force capable of destroying entire worlds.

Guilliman's power was not solely his own—it was bolstered by the faith of the people of the Imperium, who worshipped him as their savior. Each prayer, each moment of belief, added to his strength, making him a nearly unstoppable force. This power mirrored that of the gods themselves—more believers, more strength.

When Guilliman entered the battlefield, the soldiers of the Imperium erupted in joyous celebration. News of his return spread like wildfire, and the beleaguered forces of the Imperium found new hope. The sight of Guilliman was enough to reignite their resolve.

Even with much of Macragge in the hands of the Chaos forces, millions of loyal soldiers and billions of civilians still remained, their faith in the Primarch unshaken. The blessings of their faith-filled Guilliman with immense power, enough to deal with even the greatest of demons.

"I didn't expect the so-called bloodthirsty Khorne to be the weakest of the four gods," Guilliman mocked as he stood over the fallen demon. "I guess your master isn't much better. You might want to take a few lessons from Slaanesh's followers. Their... 'sissy moves' are a lot more lethal than your barbaric flailing."

The demon's rage reached a boiling point. Slaanesh was the embodiment of excess and indulgence among the Chaos gods, and Khorne despised him more than any of the others. Guilliman's words were a bitter insult, implying that the warrior of Khorne was less fearsome than the "sissies" of Slaanesh. The demon howled in fury, its broken form trembling with impotent rage.

With its weapon shattered and its arm severed, the demon was powerless against the Primarch. Guilliman, displaying both skill and disdain, dealt blow after blow, cutting down Chaos warriors who attempted to intervene.

Each swing of the Emperor's Sword sent another warrior to the ground, their armor splitting under the weight of Guilliman's might. The demonic warriors, once proud and terrifying, now fell like chaff before the wind.

"Cat got your tongue? You came from the Warp, didn't you? Speak up, weakling," Guilliman taunted, walking slowly toward the severely wounded demon. His tone was mocking, filled with the confidence only a Primarch could possess.

With each step, the holy flame on his sword grew brighter, its golden light dazzling. The demon, crippled and humiliated, could only roar helplessly, knowing it could do nothing to change its fate.

Guilliman raised the Emperor's holy sword one last time, delivering the final blow. The demon's head rolled from its neck, landing with a sickening thud beside a broken hoverbike.

The battle was over.

The soldiers of the Imperium cheered, their morale soaring as they witnessed the unthinkable—a Primarch returning from the dead, wielding the power of the Emperor himself. Guilliman's victory over the great demon was a symbol of the Imperium's resurgence, a sign that hope was not lost.

Across Macragge, the Imperium's forces were reinvigorated. The Chaos army, already on the back foot, began to falter, their will broken by the sheer force of Guilliman's return. The Emperor's son had come back, and with him came the certainty of victory.

The human armies, led by their resurgent heroes, surged forward. No traitor or demon would escape their wrath. The battle for Macragge was theirs, and the forces of Chaos had no place in this galaxy.

As the Imperial fleet engaged the remnants of the Chaos forces in orbit, their victory was inevitable. The few surviving ships of the enemy fleet barely managed to escape, fleeing into the Warp.

But the battle was won, and Macragge would never be the same.

The war might have left its scars on the surface—ruins and devastation spread across the planet—but hope had returned in the hearts of the people. Guilliman was here, and the Imperium would never fall.

The survivors of Macragge, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant, gathered to welcome the returning hero. As Guilliman stepped off the battlefield, the cheers of the masses filled the air. People cried tears of joy, holding their children high so they could see the savior of their world.

They knew that with Guilliman's return, the darkness that had engulfed their universe was finally lifting. The galaxy now had its guiding light—the Emperor's son.

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