With the support of numerous Imperial heroes—such as Saint Celestine, Chapter Master Calgar of the Ultramarines, Marshal Amalrich of the Black Templars, and Inquisitor Greyfax—as well as countless loyal soldiers of the Imperium, Roboute Guilliman easily suppressed the invading Chaos forces. Wielding the Emperor's Sword, he cut down every enemy in his sight with ruthless precision.
Whether they were Plague Zombies, Daemons of Slaanesh, or Bloodletters, all fell like grass under a scythe.
Mountains of corpses piled up.
Despite merging with a new soul, Guilliman's power had not diminished—in fact, he had grown even stronger.
His return ignited a wave of hope and courage among the Imperium's loyalists. The sight of the Primarch, like a god descending to the battlefield, filled them with renewed resolve, banishing all fear of the abominations of Chaos.
The Imperial morale soared. Even Belisarius Cawl, the Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, joined the fray. Chanting the Litany of the Omnissiah, he sniped enemy Chaos Space Marines with terrifying precision. The weapons implanted along his spine, powered by his chest reactor, fired devastating beams that tore apart any enemy who dared approach.
The Chaos forces began to crumble. Guilliman's presence tipped the scales of victory heavily toward the Imperium.
Wherever his gaze landed, Daemons and traitor Astartes trembled in fear. His Flaming Sword, a beacon of Imperial retribution, became a symbol of destruction for the enemy.
Guilliman moved unhindered across the battlefield. No foe dared to stand in his way—until a monstrous Greater Daemon stepped forth.
The daemon was massive, bearing the face of a gorilla and wide, curved horns. Covered in ancient, spike-ridden power armor forged ten thousand years ago, it wielded a chainsword engulfed in crimson flame. Its blood-red skin tensed with every swing, and its vast wings bore grotesque patterns.
It radiated pure rage, a psychic echo of fury that seeped into the minds of all nearby, driving men to madness and bloodlust. Any warrior who tried to stop the daemon was brutally killed.
Celestine and the others tried to intervene, but Guilliman stopped them—he would deal with this daemon himself.
"I never thought I'd see another Primarch on the battlefield again," the daemon sneered with yellow-brown eyes full of mockery.
"But it doesn't matter. The era of the Primarchs is over. The Imperium is doomed. What can a corpse-Emperor's spawn do? Chaos now rules the galaxy."
Guilliman narrowed his eyes. He recognized the sigils on the daemon's ancient armor—World Eaters.
A once-loyal Legion that had fallen, now servants of Khorne, the Blood God. This daemon had clearly ascended to daemonhood, a reward for his butchery.
Gripping the Emperor's Sword tightly, Guilliman snapped back:
"Traitor. Looks like we didn't beat you hard enough ten thousand years ago, if you're still crawling out of your Warp-infested hole."
Though his soul had merged with another, Guilliman still retained his memories and hatred for the traitors who had doomed mankind.
In the final days of the Great Crusade, humanity had stood on the brink of a golden future. If not for Horus's rebellion and the betrayal of several Primarchs, the human race would have reached psychic ascension and domination of the stars.
Instead, Chaos had taken root. The Emperor had been confined to the Golden Throne, and humanity had suffered through ten thousand years of brutal war and slow decay.
Every day the Imperium endured had been paid for with oceans of blood and the lives of countless heroes. And all of it was because of Chaos.
As Guilliman began analyzing the daemon for weaknesses, preparing to finish him off...
"Words mean nothing," the daemon growled.
"The Imperium and its Primarchs are relics. All that remains now is war and slaughter. Your skull will be a worthy gift for Khorne."
It snorted, spewing sparks of flame from its nostrils. The heat distorted the air around it, space shimmering with its fury.
Guilliman remained calm and unshaken.
"Tell your idiot master this: I'll take his Skull Throne as a trophy. And one day, I'll cut off his oversized head and play soccer with it."
Using the Dominion Lord Template, Guilliman could draw strength from the faith of those who believed in him. The more followers he had, the stronger he became—like a god fueled by worship.
With the combined might of a Primarch and this ever-growing faith, defeating a Greater Daemon of the Warp wasn't just possible—it was inevitable.
The daemon howled in rage, the earth trembling beneath its feet and thunder cracking through the sky. Its unleashed power struck terror into the Imperium's soldiers—many of whom trembled even while holding their lasguns. But the Chaos troops cheered, howling praise to their foul god, hoping their champion would lead them to victory.
The daemon charged.
Wielding its massive blade, it aimed to decapitate Guilliman and offer his skull to the throne of Khorne.
"You slept for ten thousand years," it roared.
"While I honed my skills in the Warp. Even a Primarch cannot stand against me!"
Its strength was overwhelming—it casually smashed a Venomcrawler aside with one swing. Then, it brought its great sword down on Guilliman.
But Guilliman met the strike with the Emperor's Sword. The clash sent shockwaves through the air.
The daemon roared, but Guilliman seized the moment, throwing a punch with his power fist. The energized gauntlet crackled with blue arcs as it tore through the air.
BOOM!
The daemon was sent flying, skidding across the ground for over ten meters before crashing into a ruined laser battery.
"That's it? That's all you've got? Guess ten thousand years of 'training' in the Warp didn't help much. Figures—bowing to the Warp turns you into weak trash. Tell Khorne to wash his neck—I'll be coming for his head next."
Guilliman taunted as he looked down on the fallen daemon. When it came to fighting Chaos gods and their minions, he might not always win.
But when it came to talking trash, Guilliman was unmatched.
Whether in online forums or battlefield banter, he was an unstoppable force of sarcasm and mockery.
And as for Chaos gods retaliating? Not a big deal.
The gods of Chaos couldn't fully enter the Material Universe—the laws of reality kept them out. At most, they could send in minions like this one. And with the Emperor still watching, they wouldn't dare breach that boundary.
So mock them?
Why not.
"You dare insult my master?!" the daemon bellowed as it stood up.
"Insult him? I'm just getting started. And I'm about to kill you too."
Guilliman charged forward, leapt high, and brought his sword down toward the daemon's skull.
(End of Chapter)