Chapter 458: The Chaos Legions Besiege! The True Lord of Ultramar!
"Finally, we're here. Let's hope we're not too late."
The moment The Zar-Quaesitor leapt out of the Mandeville point, both Cawl and Yvraine saw Macragge. But now, Macragge was surrounded by countless Chaos legions.
In near-orbit, innumerable Chaos warships were locked in a furious clash with the Ultramarines.
Dazzling cannon fire flashed without end, while the wreckage of burning warships drifted across the void. In this brutal chaos, death could descend upon anyone at any moment.
"We need to move quickly."
Living Saint Celestine gazed calmly at the carnage unfolding in the distance. Her voice carried composure and conviction: "The God-Emperor will protect us and grant us the final victory."
In the Warhammer universe, Living Saints are devout Imperials blessed with holy power, capable of working miracles. Their miracles include—though are not limited to—resurrecting themselves or reviving their fallen comrades.
The sacred halo-fields they radiate can also render them immune to mortal harm.
And Celestine, who came from the age of the Horus Heresy, was one of the most renowned Living Saints in the Imperium.
Yvraine nodded slightly.
Though the God-Emperor was crippled on the Golden Throne and could no longer rise from it, his influence still reached Macragge from far-off Terra.
A portion of Celestine's miraculous power came from the Emperor's projected will.
"We've already established contact with the Macragge defense forces. Soon, we'll be transported to the Fortress of Hera. The Lord of Macragge awaits us there," said Archmagos Cawl.
But the "Lord of Macragge" he spoke of was not Roboute Guilliman, but the current Chapter Master of the Ultramarines—Marneus Augustus Calgar.
"The Fortress of Hera… that's hardly a safe landing zone."
Inquisitor Katarinya frowned, unease flashing across her face. The Fortress of Hera was both the Ultramarines' monastery and Chapter headquarters.
Naturally, it was also the Chaos legions' main assault target.
Guilliman's resurrection was a tightly guarded secret. Beyond Archmagos Cawl and Yvraine, no one else in their company knew of it.
Katarinya had no idea why Cawl would risk his life here, or what his true purpose was.
But as an Inquisitor of the Imperium, her life and loyalty had already been consecrated to the God-Emperor. Even death could not deter her.
"Time is short. We must board the assault craft and push through now—before the Chaos legions realize we've arrived."
At Cawl's command, a brand-new assault craft stood ready in the hangar. The group quickly turned and moved down two decks to board it.
…
At that very moment, the Emperor himself had arrived aboard a Megacorp warship, now stationed near the Macragge system. He silently observed the void-battle through a massive holoscreen.
Watching peaceful, prosperous Macragge consumed by war, invaded by tens of thousands of Chaos troops, filled him with sorrow.
Clearly, in this parallel universe without the Megacorp's aid, the Imperium had fallen into collapse and ruin.
"It seems the me of this world could not salvage it after all."
The Emperor let out a heavy sigh.
Even before the Megacorp's intervention, he had foreseen the Imperium's eventual downfall. Yet even if it cost him his body and soul, he had still been willing to gamble on the faintest of chances.
If the Webway Project could have been completed, Chaos would never have been able to invade realspace on such a scale.
But through the Megacorp's "spoilers," the Emperor had learned that the Webway Project would inevitably fail, that the Imperium's decline was irreversible, and that the Four Ruinous Powers would laugh last.
From the Chaos-tainted warships drifting before him, he could feel the warp's corruption clawing into realspace. This parallel Imperium was in utter chaos and despair.
Though he had not planned to directly intervene in this world, the Emperor could no longer suppress his fury. He longed to annihilate this Chaos host with his own hands.
With his strength, even the Four Gods themselves were not guaranteed victory over him. He believed that this time, he could still defend humanity in this universe.
"Only…"
"Why haven't I seen Guilliman? Where is he?" At this point, the Emperor had no idea Guilliman was on the brink of death. He only knew that this Imperium was under Chaos siege.
As he weighed the possibilities, the warship's AI finished compiling intelligence and reported the current Warhammer universe timeline.
[Analysis complete: We have arrived ten millennia after the Chaos horde engulfed the galaxy—at the very point of Guilliman's resurrection.]
"Guilliman? Resurrection…"
The Emperor's brow furrowed. At once, he ordered the AI to display all relevant files from the Megacorp's archives for him to review.
…
Meanwhile, Archmagos Cawl and his companions had already boarded the assault craft. He left the King of Explorers in near-orbit to provide covering fire.
The hangar split open, and the assault craft shot forth at maximum speed, streaking toward the Fortress of Hera.
Simultaneously, The Zar Quaesitor unleashed its full arsenal, saturating the Chaos forces with relentless fire to divert attention.
In an instant, the Zar Quaesitor was engulfed in a storm of enemy cannon fire and shield-flare. Amid that deadly light, the small assault craft slipped unnoticed into Macragge's atmosphere.
Yet the atmosphere was far from clear.
The Chaos host had come well-prepared.
They had already seeded Macragge's skies with countless aircraft.
BOOM—!
As soon as the assault craft entered, swarms of Chaos flyers streaked toward it. Explosions rattled the hull, shockwaves booming through the cabin walls.
The violent jolts threw the craft about like a lone skiff caught in a storm.
Celestine sat resolute, eyes unwavering. She believed Cawl's craft could withstand this. And even if not—she had already steeled herself to die for the Emperor.
The others too sat in grim silence, united in resolve. The Chaos legions had swept across the galaxy, and all of them were victims of the Ruinous Powers.
Bound by a common cause, they had forged a bond deeper than blood or race.
On this path, only two ends awaited them: death under Chaos guns, or driving those accursed spawn back into the warp.
BOOM—!!
Suddenly, a shrill roar closed in fast. Peering through the windows, they saw a Chaos flyer hurtling straight at them.
It was a medium gunship bristling with turrets. If it struck them—or even landed a solid hit—the result would be the same: catastrophic crash.
At eight thousand meters above the ground, they would be nothing but pulp.
"We can't let that Chaos bastard get close."
Cawl's mind raced through countless solutions. At last he spoke: "Everyone, hold tight. Things may get a little rough."
The others gripped their restraints in silence. None dared doubt the Archmagos. Ignoring his warning would not end well.
Without hesitation, Cawl extended his cybernetic arm. Its razor digits punched through the windowpane with a crunch. Air screamed into the cabin as the pressurized hull ruptured.
At once, they understood why he had warned them about "a little" turbulence.
The craft, already damaged and unstable, bucked violently under the sudden gale. Had Cawl not prepared them, someone would have been flung out by now.
BOOM!!
The Chaos gunship's howl was nearly on top of them.
From somewhere, Cawl produced a modular component and rapidly reconfigured his arm into a cannon. He thrust the barrel out through the shattered window, aiming at the oncoming Chaos flyers.
ZII-BANG—!!
The moment he pulled the trigger, the barrel shrieked with a piercing whine. A bolt of blue-white energy tore down the rifled channel of Cawl's transformed arm, lancing straight toward the enemy craft.
The violent recoil ran through Cawl's frame into the deck of the gunship, pitching the entire vessel into a spinning roll mid-flight.
Inquisitor Katarina clutched the railing with all her strength, eyes widening as Cawl's improvised cannon actually blasted apart the Chaos fighter that had been seconds from ending them all.
The "gear-head" always had a way of pulling off something no one expected!
"Hah…"
White steam hissed from Cawl's outstretched arm.
The gunship's wild spin gradually steadied as it shook free of its pursuers. Though still bucking and jolting from battle damage, it no longer threatened to flip itself end over end.
"Congratulations—you're still alive."
Cawl's tone was light, but it was no jest meant to relieve tension. It was simply the truth in his mind.
Had this craft been destroyed, he would have spent every last effort saving only himself and Yvraine accepting even the price of mutilation—so long as he could still stand before Guilliman's casket and awaken him.
As for the others… they would simply have to fend for themselves.
No one replied. They only stared silently out the portholes, scanning for more Chaos fighters.
Fortunately, after this harrowing brush with death, the skies ahead were calmer.
The garrison at Hera Fortress had already coordinated with Archmagos Cawl. They would provide what ground-to-air fire they could, covering the landing.
"At least we're not too late. Hera Fortress hasn't fallen completely. That's some small mercy."
Marshal Amarich assessed the fortress's fire patterns, sketching out the state of Macragge's battlefield.
As Marshal of the Black Templars, Amarich had spent his life waging war against Chaos, xenos, and all who threatened Mankind. His presence here was at Cawl's invitation.
"They can't hold much longer."
Cawl's voice rasped, low and metallic. Behind the mask, no one could tell whether it was grief or cold indifference that colored his words.
Hera Fortress was in dire straits. The Ultramarines had thrown in every weapon they could command—guns, missiles, warships—everything hurled into the storm.
But the Chaos hosts were relentless, hammering at the fortress with lunatic fury. Clouds of enemy craft and fighters swarmed the bastion, their deluge of fire already piling hills of corpses upon the ground. At this pace, the Ultramarines' collapse was inevitable.
On the ground, their brothers were locked in savage melee with Chaos warriors. Every corner of Hera Fortress reeked of violence and bloodshed.
Not long after, guided by the fortress's defenders, the gunship touched down in a relatively secure zone.
Local Ultramarines received Cawl and his companions, leading them into a broad interior hall.
After a brief pause, they finally stood before Chapter Master Calgar himself, along with First Captain Agemman, Chief Librarian Tigurius, and Grand Master Voldus of the Grey Knights.
The vast hall was crowded with luminaries. Every soul present carried immense weight in the galaxy. In the Warhammer universe, this gathering was nothing short of legendary.
"I am Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines."
A massive, power-armored giant with a bald pate stepped forward. A glaring red augmetic eye burned in his left socket. His expression was iron-hard, severe to the core.
"You've seen the state of things here. We don't have time for chatter. Tell me plainly—what aid can you bring Macragge?"
Calgar's gaze swept over Cawl, Yvraine, and the odd mix of human and Aeldari with them. He doubted this motley band could achieve anything of significance.
After all, the Zar-Quaesitor had arrived without any real army in tow.
Macragge stood on the brink of collapse. Warp storms had severed astropathic links; no calls for help could reach beyond.
If this war ground on, Macragge—the jewel of Mankind—would fall to Chaos, and the Ultramarines would be annihilated.
"I once made a pact with the Lord of Ultramar. I am here to honor that vow."
Cawl did not speak his true purpose aloud. Guilliman's resurrection was too vital—nothing less than the fate of entire species hung in the balance. His nerves were taut as wire; even the faintest misstep could mean disaster.
By "Lord of Ultramar," he meant the Ultramar Sector itself—the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, a stellar realm of more than five hundred worlds.
Macragge was its heart. If Macragge fell, Ultramar's destruction was only a matter of time.
"A pact? I've never made any such pact with you."
Calgar frowned. He was the current Lord of Ultramar, and yet he had never once made an agreement with the Archmagos of Mars. In truth, the two had barely even met—knowing only of each other by reputation.
"Archmagos Cawl, I require a proper explanation." Calgar stepped back a pace, his warriors instantly raising their guard.
In the Warhammer 40K universe, the Ruinous Powers were ever-scheming. Any anomaly could be a Chaos ploy. Vigilance was survival.
"I did not strike that pact with you—but with the true Lord of Ultramar. I am here to awaken him."
Cawl's words struck like a thunderclap. The Ultramarines froze. The true Lord of Ultramar? Who else could that mean?
There had been many rulers of Ultramar across history. But only one could be named its true master: the gene-sire of the Chapter himself, Primarch Roboute Guilliman.
"Utter nonsense!"
Calgar's suspicion surged to its peak. His hand fell to the hilt of his chainsword, eyes like a predator's. "The Father of our Gene-line has slumbered for ten millennia. In all that time, he has never stirred.
"You claim he made you such a pact? When? What did you agree?"
Guilliman's Infinity slumber was a wound that cut through every Ultramarine's soul.
Ten thousand years ago, in the Heresy, Daemon Primarch Fulgrim had pierced Guilliman's throat with a poisoned blade, condemning him to a stasis field to keep him from death.
And for ten thousand years, Guilliman had lain entombed, unmoving. Few still dreamed of his return.
The Imperium crumbled. Macragge stood on the brink. They could trust only themselves.
To Calgar, this Archmagos was deeply suspect. Perhaps even a puppet of Tzeentch.
Yet behind him, Chief Librarian Tigurius stood silent, mind racing through fragments of memory. Some part of him recalled… there might indeed have been such a pact.
"I made that vow with the Primarch, here on Macragge, ten millennia past. But its terms remain secret—for now."
With that, Cawl gestured, and the artifact he had prepared was borne forth: the Armor of Fate.
"This is the key. Grant me leave to bring it to the Primarch's resting place."
The Armor of Fate was Cawl's life's masterpiece, forged with all his genius, a suit that could sustain Guilliman's failing body once freed from stasis.
For this was the pact: that Guilliman would be awakened after ten millennia.
But to bring him back, there was one condition that could not be avoided.
They would first have to kill Guilliman.
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