Chapter 79: The Imperium's Terrible Strength
An imposing fleet sailed slowly into view.
This was the sacred ship formation of the Adeptus Mechanicus Restoration Cult, each warship radiating a unique splendor and majesty. They resembled steel altars suspended in the heavens, inscribed with countless ancient prayers and symbols, seemingly chanting hymns to the Machine God as they advanced.
Standing upon the command bridge of the flagship, the supreme commander, Hierophant Hiei Roma, observed the scenes unfolding upon the surface below with undisguised shock.
The Restoration Cult differed from other Mechanicus forces. They were a highly specialized military department, their doctrines fanatically focused, always manifesting upon the most hellish of battlefields.
Yet the daemonic... celebration before her was truly unprecedented in her experience.
Had the combatants not still possessed recognizably human heads, she might have suspected that xenos had infiltrated.
It wasn't until Francis flew directly before their vessels that Hierophant Hiei Roma broke from her reverie.
She immediately issued her orders: "Deploy assault troops. Begin air-dropping heavy vehicles."
At her command, countless Thallax soldiers descended via jump packs.
Thallax were specialized semi-mechanized warriors; only their skulls and brains remained organic, while all other components were replaced by highly automated machinery. The moment they touched down, the multi-barreled laser weapons in their hands swept across the daemonic host with withering fire.
More mechanized infantry joined the fray, driving Minotaur Heavy Siege Tanks that crushed daemons beneath their treads.
The daemons' corruption proved completely ineffective against blessed machine-spirits.
Francis entered the warship. The other Mechanicus adepts remaining on guard regarded him with blank expressions, uncertain whether they were too conservative or he was too radical.
Hiss~
Entering the command sanctum, Hierophant Hiei Roma regarded Francis with evident confusion. "Greetings. What brings you before me?"
Her tone was cold, utterly lacking the warmth she had shown during their initial vox contact in space.
Seeing her suspicious expression, Francis finally understood and decisively drank a measure of Ork blood.
"Ah! So you are the Ork Primarch!"
Upon witnessing Francis transform back into his Ork form, Hierophant Hiei Roma's demeanor shifted dramatically. She rushed to his side with what could only be described as enthusiasm. Her caution evaporated the moment she recognized him.
Perhaps it was an illusion, but Francis actually detected a hint of osmanthus fragrance beneath the oil-scent emanating from her frame.
He observed her appearance more carefully.
Her figure was tall, though not entirely composed of flesh and blood; most of her body had been replaced by machinery. Her head resembled an exquisitely carved work of art, the left side covered by a smooth, silver-white mechanical faceplate inlaid with runes and data ports, while the right side retained her human features.
That exposed half-face was pale and cold, as if carved from marble, her eye gleaming with metallic blue luminescence. Several slender mechanical tendrils extended from the back of her head like nerve-extensions, constantly swaying, sparks dancing at their terminals.
Her body was shrouded in a red and silver robe woven from high-molecular alloy, serving as both armor and ritual vestment. The edges were embroidered with ancient symbols of the Adeptus Mechanicus, each sigil faintly glowing, her shoulder guards adorned with shimmering metallic gears.
Hiss hiss hiss~
At this moment, Francis found her somewhat... elegant, in her own way.
"Hmm, you are very good."
Hearing Francis's praise, Hierophant Hiei Roma was visibly excited. Though a mechanical counterpart had replaced her heart, she still experienced what her logic-engines classified as a pleasant aberration.
"Primarch, is there something you require of me?"
'Listen to that! The same sentence, but with an entirely different sentiment.'
Francis didn't stand on ceremony, directly settling into the co-captain's seat. "I'm here to rest. After holding back half the daemon horde by myself, I need recovery time before I can rejoin the battle."
Hearing this, Hierophant Hiei Roma regarded him with immense admiration, standing obediently at his side.
Using his communicator to contact all Soul Drinkers, Francis ordered them to withdraw from direct combat, transforming their assault force into a medical detachment.
They moved constantly among the other Legions, providing timely treatment to wounded Astartes.
One moment, an Ultramarine had lost a leg, the next, a Soul Drinker appeared beside him, administered green growth serum, and the Ultramarine's leg regenerated completely. He immediately stood, raised his bolter, and shot dead the daemon that had severed his limb moments before.
The daemons' vaunted regeneration abilities gradually seemed to lose their advantage under these circumstances.
Sarpedon in particular held his staff aloft, refusing to dodge enemy attacks, simply absorbing the blows, casting destructive sorcery to obliterate his foes, then restoring himself with growth serum. He was using it so frequently that his armor panels had taken on a faint green tinge.
The Soul Drinkers moved like madmen across the battlefield, devouring enemies while simultaneously aiding allies. Some even swung their own severed limbs as improvised weapons, constantly harvesting daemons.
Several Primarchs exchanged glances, silently acknowledging that this medical detachment was unusually... unorthodox.
NO!—their entire brotherhood was unorthodox.
"Leman Russ, did you teach them this?"
"No! Why would I do something like that? Could it be the Custodians?"
"Possibly. They're certainly ruthless enough."
They could scarcely believe this was a Legion led by their brother, even more insane than the previous World Eaters.
The Khornate daemons found themselves mercilessly ravaged from multiple directions, Imperial forces before them, lustful Slaaneshi daemons behind them. Even daemon reinforcements emerging from the rift were drawn into the depraved celebration, and there was also that damned enemy in the sky, constantly hurling strange alchemical concoctions.
Just as Guilliman stumbled, struck in the knee by psychic flame, golden radiance blazed forth from within the Imperial Palace.
"You have done well."
"Now I have come."
The Emperor manifested, walking through the air itself like a blazing sun given form. He merely raised one hand, and a terrifying psychic shockwave immediately enveloped all of Terra.
It swiftly purged the Chaos corruption from the Astartes, and then a peculiar flame ignited upon the daemons, who unleashed horrific screams.
"I don't want to die! Blood God, save me!"
"Ahhh! What is this flame? Why does my soul burn?!"
"No!"
Unlike the material methods of daemon elimination, the Emperor's power appeared capable of utterly annihilating their essence. The daemons, who had been fearless of death, now looked upon Him as one would gaze upon an angry god.
Conversely, the warriors of the Imperium, bathed in the Emperor's psychic radiance, felt as if their entire beings had been cleansed and renewed.
"For the Emperor!"
"For the Emperor!"
At this moment, this phrase became a tangible reality, as nearly a million Imperial warriors charged the daemonic host with renewed fury.
All the gene-forged Primarchs present felt overwhelming exultation as they witnessed the Emperor display His immense power.
This was their father, the strongest being in the Imperium of Man!
Their eyes filled with reverence, filial devotion, and longing.
Except for Francis.
He was currently running down from the warship, frantically collecting the daemon-dust burned by the Emperor's flame, muttering: "I'm rich! I'm rich!"
"These are precious experimental materials! Daemon-dust, this is solid matter!"
Of course, the Emperor witnessed this spectacle. A benevolent voice manifested in Francis's ear.
"Francis, it seems you truly enjoy these forbidden things."
Hearing this, Francis's expression became pained, and his hands stilled. He casually picked up a chainsword instead. "How could that be? I'm just purely curious. I'll keep some as a souvenir~"
What a joke.
Francis had originally believed he was incredibly powerful now, so much so that even if he couldn't defeat the Emperor, he could at least escape.
But witnessing the Emperor's display of power, certain... treasonous thoughts were temporarily set aside.
He found himself unable to comprehend how the Emperor had ever been injured. The Emperor was simply too powerful.
With the Emperor's intervention, the daemons' situation grew exponentially more desperate.
It was worth noting that besides the Emperor Himself, Terra now hosted tens of thousands of Custodian Guard, fully organized contingents of the Sisters of Silence, hundreds of thousands of Ultramarines, tens of thousands of Imperial Fists, and tens of thousands of Dark Angels and Blood Angels.
As well as countless mechanized infantry acting like mobile ordnance, constantly charging the daemon lines. Plus Francis's alchemical concoctions and a formidable Legion of Soul Drinkers acting as medical detachment.
In several locations, they had even begun closing the Warp rifts, work undertaken primarily by the Thousand Sons Legion.
It was no exaggeration to assert that the military strength currently assembled upon Terra represented half the Imperium's total combat power.
Meanwhile, on Mochi Star.
The Maw of Chaos, its colossal archway covered with twisted runes, glowed faintly with eerie green luminescence, as if the whispers of daemons echoed through the air itself.
Horus, clad in black Terminator armor trimmed with gold, stood before the gate, constantly deflecting Khan's high-velocity assaults.
He yet attempted to persuade his brother to join his cause.
"My brother... we share the same genesis. Why must you stand as my enemy?"
"Together we conquered the galaxy. You and I trampled countless foes beneath our feet. Yet now you stand with the False Emperor, willingly becoming His servant?"
[End of Chapter]