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Chapter 32: The Primarch
They had found the missing Primarch. Even Hill could hardly contain his excitement. With an exhilarated voice, he relayed the best news of the day over the communication channel.
"The Primarch is still alive—we have found Roboute Guilliman!"
The surviving battle-brothers were overcome with emotion. These superhuman warriors, enhanced by genetic modifications that dulled their emotions, once again felt the profound bond with their Gene-Father.
This was a connection rooted in their very blood. The moment they sensed the presence of their Primarch, morale surged, and their combat effectiveness soared beyond normal limits.
Each of the Primarchs, created by the Emperor himself, was a peerless commander. Their mere presence on the battlefield inspired those around them to fight with unbreakable resolve.
Guilliman shielded his sons behind him and charged at the Word Bearers with terrifying speed. He wielded no weapons—only his fists—yet he struck with a force beyond comprehension. With a single devastating blow, he caved in the chest of a fully armored Astartes.
The ceramite plating, built to withstand the fiercest of impacts, crumpled like brittle clay under the Primarch's strength. Guilliman's hands plunged into his foe's torso, crushing both hearts with merciless precision. Blood erupted from the Word Bearer's shattered body, drifting in the void, a grim testament to the slaughter taking place.
Using the mangled corpse as a shield, Guilliman blocked several incoming bolter rounds. While explosive rounds could wound him, it would take more to deliver a fatal blow—but he would take no unnecessary risks.
Finding his footing, he launched himself forward like a thunderbolt, closing the gap between himself and another enemy. A single, earth-shattering punch ruptured the thick breastplate, his massive hand wrapping around the reinforced spine of his foe.
With a savage tug, Guilliman ripped the Word Bearer apart, spine and skull still connected in his grasp. With a roar that sent chills down the spine of friend and foe alike, he hurled the severed spine with pinpoint accuracy, impaling another heretic through the skull.
Nearby, Hill retrieved a fallen bolter from a Word Bearer's corpse and fired continuously, covering his Primarch. His precise shots obliterated an enemy attempting to flank Guilliman.
The Primarch fought with relentless fury. He tore through the traitors with nothing but his hands, reducing them to broken corpses. Every blow sent limbs flying, armor cracking, and blood spilling into the void.
Hill had never seen Guilliman like this before. In his memories, the Primarch had always been a master strategist—rational, composed, disciplined.
But this Guilliman—this unstoppable force—was something else entirely.
And it was exhilarating.
The surviving Ultramarines and their allies rallied around him. Another kill team, having received word of the Primarch's return, arrived to reinforce them. Under Guilliman's command, they crushed the remaining Word Bearers aboard the cruiser.
Hill quickly confirmed their position and initiated a communication request to the bridge. With the Thinker system controlling the ship's mechanisms, the airtight hatch of Dock 88 opened, allowing the warriors to return to the flagship's interior.
Of the forty kill teams deployed, nineteen had been lost. The survivors, their mission of disrupting enemy warp travel complete, now gathered to reunite with their Primarch.
Guilliman stood amidst them, his cobalt blue armor streaked with the blood of his enemies. He surveyed his warriors, his voice steady and commanding.
"I have returned," he declared. "They did not kill me."
A wave of relief and triumph swept through the Ultramarines. The oppressive weight of the battle momentarily lifted as they basked in the presence of their Gene-Father.
Guilliman turned his gaze toward his Chapter Master, Marneus Gage. The veteran Astartes had lost an arm in the battle, yet his expression remained resolute and fearless.
"In this hour of crisis, you—my proud sons—have endured the test. You have fought through the enemy's ranks, and your deeds will be remembered across the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
"But this battle is not yet over."
The warriors fell silent, hanging onto his every word.
"The war in space and on the surface of Calth rages on. We stand here now because countless others—Astartes and mortals alike—continue to fight. We will not abandon them. We will fight until the last traitor is purged. We will reclaim our weapons, our ships, and our world."
His piercing gaze swept over his warriors.
"The Word Bearers cannot defeat us. They have forsaken their oaths and enslaved themselves to entities lurking beyond the veil of reality. In the name of the Emperor and the fallen of Calth, we will cast down these traitors."
His armor, still stained with frost and gore, only heightened his presence. His once-pristine golden hair was disheveled, his features hardened by war. Yet his voice radiated the unyielding light of hope, igniting a fire in the hearts of all who heard him.
They believed.
They knew he would lead them to victory.
"Father," Gage said, striking his remaining fist against the Aquila on his chest. "Your will is our mission. I am ready to launch a counteroffensive."
Guilliman nodded but spoke with caution.
"Determination alone will not secure our victory, Gage. We need powerful weapons to combat these abominations. Conventional arms will not suffice. That is why…"
His voice grew heavier.
"I will temporarily rescind the Edict of Nikea. We require the strength of the Librarius. Only psychic might can counter the horrors of the Warp."
Silence fell over the warriors. The Edict of Nikea, issued by the Emperor himself, had forbidden the use of psychic abilities among the Legions. Guilliman's decision to overturn it, even temporarily, was monumental.
"The Nikean Council was flawed," he continued. "It stripped us of our greatest weapon against the Warp. It was either incompetence… or conspiracy."
He cast a solemn look toward the assembled warriors.
"If I fall in battle, you must carry out this order. The Librarius must be rebuilt. We must use the power of the Warp to fight the forces that wield it against us."
A murmur ran through the gathered warriors.
Even the Iron Hands and Raven Guard present, including Sabik Weyland, exchanged silent nods of agreement.
Guilliman acknowledged them with respect.
"Sabik Weyland of the Iron Hands. Bucky of the Raven Guard. You have fought through impossible odds to bring us this warning. You have my highest respect."
He met their eyes with unwavering determination.
"Corvus Corax. Ferrus Manus. My dear brothers. Their fates on Isstvan weigh heavily upon me."
Ferrus had been the strongest, the most unshakable among them. Now, he was gone—slain by the treacherous Fulgrim.
But there was no time to mourn.
Guilliman clenched his fists.
"The traitors will answer for their crimes. They will stand before the Emperor—and they will repent."
(End of Chapter)