V3 Chapter 25: Guilliman, This Is My Power!
After entering the training hall, Duvette and Cawl moved to their designated positions and gave a slight bow toward Guilliman at the far end.
The Astra Militarum officers in the party did not move immediately.
Stroud, Finn, Anderson, and the other veterans who had followed Duvette this far all stood looking at the Primarch standing at the far end of the hall. Until now, figures like him had existed only in icons, Chapter histories, and the illustrated dispatches the Departmento Munitorum sent down to the regiments.
Now he was simply standing there.
Even the least regulation-bound veterans in the group had gone quiet.
Stroud looked at Guilliman across the distance and felt his thoughts go blank for a moment. He finally understood what Duvette had meant when he had mentioned a surprise earlier.
This was not a surprise. This was a shock. A figure who had walked out of legend and was simply standing there in front of him. Emperor on the Throne...
Several of the Astra Militarum officers felt the impact of it, and with it came something they could not easily suppress: a sense of deference that had nothing to do with orders given or ranks assigned. It felt more like the first time they had seen someone who could actually hold everything together.
Stroud found himself noticing something familiar in the Primarch's bearing.
The familiarity came from the kind of presence that arises naturally when someone stands before a crowd, something with no relation to face or voice. He had felt something similar from Duvette before, and he glanced instinctively toward the black greatcoat ahead of him.
The Commissar stood there, back turned, unhurried, as though he had long since made his peace with all eyes falling on him.
Stroud thought about the change in Duvette that had grown more and more visible over the years. It was not simply the weight that came from accumulated rank and battlefield experience. It was something closer to an innate quality of command, the kind that made victory and honour feel like a destination that was already fixed, as long as you kept following.
Duvette seemed to sense their gaze. He gave a quiet cough.
The officers came back to themselves and joined the Shadow Wolves in rendering their salute to Guilliman.
Guilliman did not rebuke them for the delay.
He walked closer, his gaze moving across Duvette and Cawl first, then settling on the thirteen Shadow Wolves. Finally, he indicated that three Ultramarine veterans should step forward from behind him.
From the power armour and helmets these three wore, they were clearly Honour Guard, the finest Calgar had chosen. If Guilliman ever formed a new personal guard, these men would very likely be among the first core of it.
"I need to see two things," Guilliman said. "First, the results of what Cawl calls his Primaris conversion surgery. Second, the actual performance of the enhancement capability you described."
Duvette gave a slight smile.
"No difficulty at all," he said. "However you wish to arrange it."
Cawl's mechaoptic lenses made a full rotation.
"I would recommend recording all physical metrics," Cawl said. "Neural response, musculature load tolerance, cardiopulmonary circulation, skeletal compression resistance, and power armour feedback data in particular."
"Already arranged," Guilliman said.
The Apothecaries, Tech-Marines, and recording servitors positioned around the training hall all began their work simultaneously. The observation arrays on the walls came to life. Several data projections appeared above the tactical table.
Markus brought two Shadow Wolves forward to the centre of the floor.
On Guilliman's side, three Honour Guard veterans stepped out of formation. They wore full power armour with red cloaks, and each held a training combat blade with a deliberately dulled edge. By Astartes standards, a blunted edge was still sufficient to shatter bone.
Guilliman looked at the six in the centre of the hall.
"Show me the Primaris results first."
At that command, all six moved into combat stance simultaneously.
Neither side offered words. Neither side offered provocation.
The three Shadow Wolves had come from the old Legion era, through the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy. The three Honour Guard veterans were the sharpest warriors their Chapter had produced in the current age, their discipline and technique at the highest level.
The first exchange opened quickly.
Markus did not choose anything elaborate. He stepped forward and drove his training blade straight at the opponent's shoulder and neck, forcing a high block.
The two training blades met. Metal rang through the hall.
The Ultramarine's reaction was fast: he deflected and immediately shifted his weight to drive his pauldron into Markus to break his stance. Markus did not give ground. Instead his left foot pressed inward half a step, and he pushed back with enough force to neutralise the attempt entirely.
On the other side, the two Shadow Wolves were also taking the initiative.
Their technique was no more elaborate than Markus's. The difference came from strength, speed, and recovery tempo.
After every block, the Ultramarines needed a beat to reset their stance.
The Shadow Wolves completed their next movement faster. The physical advantage the Primaris conversion had given them gradually widened the gap under equal equipment and weapon conditions.
Markus reached a conclusion first.
Three successive direct blade presses drove his opponent back half a step. When the Ultramarine tried to change his approach, Markus pulled his blade back without warning, drove his pauldron into the man's chest armour, and sent the Honour Guard veteran sliding backward several paces.
The Ultramarine did not go down.
He steadied himself quickly and raised his blade again.
But Guilliman had already seen enough.
"Stop."
All six stopped.
The recording equipment continued running as the Apothecaries and Tech-Marines cross-referenced the data.
Guilliman looked at Cawl.
"What is the success rate of this surgery?"
Cawl did not answer immediately. His mechadendrites shifted slightly, as though he was calculating which form of words to use.
"When performed by me personally, the success rate is considerably higher," Cawl said. "If performed by standard Apothecaries and Tech-Priests, the failure rate may exceed sixty percent."
Guilliman's brow came together.
"You have already been conducting trials."
"Many," Cawl said. "And for long enough."
Guilliman held his gaze.
"Specific results."
Every one of Cawl's mechaoptic lenses turned toward Guilliman.
"When we reach Mars, I will present you with the complete research outcomes," Cawl said. "All of it was the task you assigned me at the time."
Guilliman was silent for a moment.
He understood that Cawl was withholding something, and that this Archmagos was carrying a great deal more than he had shown. Pressing now would not produce a complete answer.
So he turned to Duvette.
"Now show me your ability."
Duvette gave a nod.
He looked toward the centre of the floor and indicated Markus should stay. The other two Shadow Wolves stepped back into formation.
Duvette looked at Guilliman.
"I think one more person would be useful."
Guilliman's brow came together slightly.
"You want Markus to fight four Honour Guard veterans alone?"
"Yes."
Guilliman looked at Markus.
Markus gave a nod.
"I have no difficulty with that."
Those words drew every Ultramarine in the hall to look at him at the same moment.
The Honour Guard were the finest the Chapter had produced, every one of them shaped by extended campaigns and rigorous selection. And now a Shadow Wolf who had only just put white armour back on was standing in a training hall on Ultramar, saying he could hold four of them.
This went beyond confidence.
Several Ultramarines' expressions shifted toward something with an edge to it.
Guilliman was not moved by the mood in the room.
He looked at Markus and said only: "This is a training exercise, but you will still take injuries."
Markus lowered his head in acknowledgement.
"I am certain."
Guilliman looked at Duvette.
Duvette only nodded.
A moment later, the fourth Honour Guard veteran stepped onto the floor. Four Ultramarines spread out around Markus from different angles, training blades in hand, the joints of their power armour giving a low sound as they settled into position.
The hall went quiet.
Everyone was waiting for Duvette to speak.
Duvette drew a breath and looked at the transparent panel that had opened in his field of vision.
Under the King of War, the Laurel Marks had reached three.
The Battle of Balhaut Mark at ten percent enhancement to all physical attributes. The Tanith campaign Mark at three percent. And the recently settled Battle of Tarentus Mark at five percent.
Three Marks stacked together. The permanent passive enhancement had reached eighteen percent.
What had allowed Markus and the others to hold the Honour Guard in the first exchange was not only the Primaris conversion. The permanent passive enhancement had been sitting on all of them from the start.
What Duvette was about to show was a state beyond even that.
He raised his hand and activated the panel.
Flesh Engine: active.
At the same moment, the United We Stand aura from the Star of Terra was pulled into the enhancement.
Markus's frame gave a slight shudder where he stood.
He made no sound, but he could feel it clearly: his heart, his muscles, his nerves, and his bones had entered a state that did not have an easy name. The power armour feedback data spiked sharply in a short span of time, and the logging needles on the servitors' recording instruments swung rapidly.
His breathing steadied.
His senses sharpened.
The stance, the blade angle, the faint movement at each joint of the four Honour Guard's power armour: all of it entered his awareness.
This was beyond the range of an ordinary Astartes.
Duvette looked at Guilliman and gave a nod.
Guilliman raised his hand.
"Begin."
All four Ultramarines attacked simultaneously.
The first training blade came from the left, aimed at Markus's shoulder and neck. The second man dropped low and drove for the knee joints. The third came straight in from the front. The fourth angled around toward the rear to close off the retreat.
Markus did not retreat.
He stepped forward into the frontal charge.
The two training blades met. Before the Ultramarine had completed his force, Markus was already driving the blade edge downward, and his right pauldron drove into the man's chest armour. The Ultramarine went back. Markus turned with the movement, his blade sweeping horizontally to block the strike coming in from the left.
The Ultramarine attacking the knee joint was fast.
Markus was faster.
He lifted his leg clear of the blade and brought his heel down precisely onto the back of the weapon. He then used his knee plate to press down on the man's shoulder and drove him flat against the floor, pinned and unable to move.
But the attack from the rear had already arrived.
Markus did not look back. He turned his body to the side and let the training blade slide across his backplate, deflecting the thrust from behind. He drove his elbow backward into the man's chest armour. A heavy sound. The force staggered the Ultramarine and sent him stumbling.
In that moment, the fourth Honour Guard veteran moved to take the opening.
He stepped in, both hands on the blade, and cut at Markus's side.
Markus pulled his training blade back with a speed that left little room to track, and the hilt struck the man's wrist. The next instant Markus came to his full height, caught the man's arm plate with his left hand, and drove forward with his whole body like something that was not going to stop. The force took the Ultramarine's footing entirely and put him on the floor.
Heavy impacts resonated through the training hall.
In under five seconds, the encirclement of four had been broken apart.
But the fight was not finished.
The four Ultramarines stood again. One was assessed as having taken joint-lock damage and was signalled to withdraw by a Tech-Marine. The remaining three continued their advance.
Markus's movements stayed measured throughout.
He did not appear to be at his limit. Each strike landed precisely where it would prevent the opponent from continuing, and nothing more. One Honour Guard veteran had a training blade held at his neck plate and was assessed as killed. A second took a strike to the side of his helmet, lost his balance, and went down. The third came in with both blades crossing, trying to push Markus back through sheer pressure. Markus blocked once, and the force behind it, far beyond what the Honour Guard veteran could match, opened a gap. Markus drove his fist into the centre of the man's chest armour.
The force was sufficient to trigger a warning from the Cognitor Array inside the power armour.
The Ultramarine went down backward. His training blade left his hand. Markus pressed his own blade to the man's chest plate.
"Stop."
Guilliman's voice.
Markus stepped back and lowered the blade immediately.
All four Honour Guard veterans were out of the fight. Two were on the floor. One had been assessed as killed. One had withdrawn on joint-lock damage. The Apothecaries and Tech-Marines moved in immediately to confirm there were no critical injuries.
Markus stood in the centre of the floor, breathing steadily. He had not used full strength, in part out of concern for the Honour Guard.
Everyone was looking at him.
No voices rose in the training hall. No sounds of recognition came from the Ultramarines. Their expressions had become very serious.
Guilliman did not look at Markus for long.
He turned sharply and looked at Duvette.
"How long can this ability be sustained?"
"Currently, two hours," Duvette answered.
"Negative effects."
"No irreversible damage has been observed," Duvette said. "Short-term fatigue and metabolic pressure are present, but both recover."
"How many can it affect?"
Duvette allowed himself a slight smile.
"All forces formally integrated into my command structure and operating under my command can be affected."
He looked toward Stroud and the other officers nearby.
"That includes mortal soldiers."
Guilliman went silent.
No irreversible damage observed. All forces integrated into the command structure. Including mortals.
Those words assembled themselves in his mind rapidly, and the meaning they carried was considerably more significant than the fight that had just taken place in the training hall.
If Duvette had not lied, this was not a single-unit enhancement capability. This was a force capable of directly changing the efficiency of an entire theatre of war, or an entire crusade, or every war the Imperium was fighting.
It could allow mortal formations to hold under Chaos contamination for longer. It could allow Astartes to push past their limits at critical moments. It could give an army a higher rate of survival on the most dangerous lines in the galaxy.
Guilliman's expression became very serious.
"Everything that has occurred in this hall is classified at the highest level."
His voice carried to every corner of the training hall.
"No record is to leave the Fortress of Hera without my authorisation. No person present is to mention what they have seen today to any outside party."
The Honour Guard, Apothecaries, Tech-Marines, and Astra Militarum officers all lowered their heads in acknowledgement.
Guilliman looked at Duvette.
"I will need to verify what you have told me," he said. "Duration, negative effects, effective range, whether psychic contamination is present, whether individual free will is diminished: all of it requires further investigation."
Duvette gave a nod.
"I accept the verification."
"Until I have reached my final judgement, you will remain with me," Guilliman continued. "That is both protection and a constraint."
Duvette looked at him and said nothing in return.
Guilliman's voice carried a little more weight.
"No person other than myself may detain, try, or conduct research upon you under any authority or name."
The training hall went quiet again after those words landed.
Duvette allowed himself a slight smile.
This was exactly the guarantee he had been working toward.
He rendered a salute to Guilliman.
"I am entirely in agreement."