V3 Chapter 80: You've Been Buffed, Now Get In There!
For those watching from either end of the corridor, the battle between the two Primarchs was almost impossible to follow in full.
This Legion-grade heavy transport corridor, wide enough for several armoured vehicles to drive abreast, still felt far too narrow for what was happening within it. The Emperor's Sword's golden light flared again and again through the darkness, Angron's roars and the crash of colliding weapons blurring into one continuous din.
Ordinary armed ratings could make out nothing but blurred afterimages sweeping past their vision.
The Ultramarines Honour Guard and the Blood Angels could barely track a handful of the movements, and found no opening to intervene at all. The plasteel bulkheads had already been battered into ruin, broken pipes venting gusts of air, and the reek of blood kept rolling toward them in waves.
Anyone foolish enough to step forward would be torn apart in the shockwave of the two Primarchs' blows alone.
They gripped their weapons tight, watching the centre of the battle, waiting for any instant they might act.
Angron held the absolute advantage.
The daemon-ascended Red Angel stood far taller than Guilliman, and the strength held within his daemon-warped muscle far exceeded anything a Loyalist Primarch could match. The massive chain-axe Spinegrinder and the daemon sword Samni'arius fell in turn, and every collision sent a violent shudder through Guilliman's arms and shoulders.
"I'm going... to kill you!!!"
Angron's roar shook the entire corridor, shattering nearby lighting one fixture after another. Had the Honour Guard's and Blood Angels' helms not automatically sealed off their auditory systems, that roar alone would have been enough to burst a mortal's eardrums.
Guilliman gave no answer.
The Emperor's Sword moved at blinding speed in his hand, dozens of flashes of the blade appearing every second. Its golden flame kept turning aside the chain-axe and the daemon sword alike, but that speed was enough only to hold the line, not to open any real chance to strike back.
Spinegrinder fell from above.
Guilliman twisted aside; the chain-axe grazed his shoulder plate and slammed into the deck, tearing the plating wide open. Samni'arius followed close behind, its point dragging across the armour of fate's breastplate, gouging a deep crack into the blue-and-gold plate.
Guilliman drove the Hand of Dominion into Angron's face.
The blow, delivered with a Primarch's full strength, shattered several of the bone spurs and snapped Angron's head sharply to one side.
But the Red Angel checked for barely an instant before driving his own skull forward into Guilliman's helm.
The heavy impact sent Guilliman staggering back, blood running down his face.
Angron spread his wings; his right wing swept clean across the corridor, tearing an entire section of bulkhead and several pipe runs down with it. Before the wreckage even hit the deck, he had already closed the distance between them, swinging the chain-axe in a horizontal arc at Guilliman's waist.
The Emperor's Sword caught the axe blade.
The spinning teeth locked against the burning edge, sparks scattering in every direction. Guilliman's feet cracked the deck beneath him, and still the force drove him sliding backward.
The daemon sword thrust in from the other side.
Guilliman broke off the contest of strength, twisting away from the blade's point, and carved another burning wound into Angron's chest in the same motion. The instant the golden flame touched daemon flesh, Angron roared and slammed his shoulder into Guilliman's chest.
The armour of fate screamed under the impact.
Guilliman's towering frame was thrown clean off his feet, hurled dozens of metres down the corridor, punching through an isolation door before slamming into the armoured bulkhead at its end. The entire wall buckled inward, and a mass of metal debris rained down around him.
His blue-and-gold breastplate had already caved in.
The old wound at his neck flared with pain once more, and the agony in his chest left Guilliman briefly unable to draw breath. He braced himself on the Emperor's Sword and forced himself back up, catching the scent of death once again.
Angron was already upon him.
Spinegrinder fell with the full weight of his fury; Guilliman could only drop to one knee, raising his blade to catch it. The deck cracked beneath his knee, and the armour of fate's joint systems flagged an overload warning.
Angron raised the chain-axe once more.
Guilliman watched his brother's every movement, searching for some weakness he could exploit amid the unbroken storm of blows. But the Butcher's Nails kept driving Angron's speed and strength ever higher, and he could find almost no opening to strike back.
The Ultramarines Honour Guard could no longer bear to wait.
They raised their weapons, preparing to charge forward and pull their gene-father free from beneath Angron's axe.
"Wait!"
A voice rang out from behind them.
Duvette judged he'd arrived just about in time.
He came through the armoured hatch just as it opened, the thirteen Shadow Wolves of Luna beside him, and the first thing he saw was Guilliman kneeling at the far end of the corridor. Angron kept swinging his weapons again and again, and Guilliman could do nothing but keep blocking.
Duvette drew the Blade of Glory from his belt.
He did not activate its disruption field. He simply drew his thumb across the sharp edge and smeared the blood onto the inscription along the blade. The dark red mark spread slowly along the ancient script, then was absorbed entirely into the steel.
Duvette tightened his grip on the hilt and fixed his eyes on Angron.
"By my blood and by my soul, I swear this oath!"
"In this battle, Angron will be driven back into the Warp. Should I fail this oath, let my own soul stand as the price!"
The Blade of Glory answered his oath.
Its inscription lit letter by letter, a blue disruption field sweeping across the blade with a faint white glow shining through it. The power sword hummed low, and the strength of [Oath-Keeper] and [Soul Severance] both locked onto the Daemon Primarch at the corridor's far end at once.
Angron raised Spinegrinder once more.
Duvette's eyes narrowed, and [Eye of Judgement] fixed on a wound at the Red Angel's back that had not fully closed, a gash left by his passage through the Macragge's Honour, torn flesh lying between the wing-root and the plate covering his back.
Duvette stepped forward and hurled the Blade of Glory with every ounce of strength he had.
The power sword became a streak of blue-white light tearing down the corridor, driving true into the wound on Angron's back. The disruption field ripped through daemon flesh, the blade punching out through his chest, and the faint white glow spread outward along the wound at once.
"AAGH!"
It was the first true cry of pain Angron had given since his arrival in realspace.
The wound the Blade of Glory had opened did not close.
[Soul Severance] reached past the daemon flesh entirely, beginning to touch the very bond between Angron and the Warp.
[Oath-Keeper] pressed Duvette's own will into the blade, keeping that power lodged within the Red Angel's body.
Angron's head whipped around.
He saw Duvette, standing at the far end of the corridor.
That mortal was making him weaker.
Kill him! KILL HIM!!!
Angron abandoned his attack on Guilliman and wheeled his massive body around, charging straight for Duvette. The deck buckled beneath every stride, and Spinegrinder dragged along the bulkhead, leaving a trail of breaches behind.
Duvette did not retreat.
He saw Guilliman hauling himself back up against the bulkhead, and shouted straight at him. "Guilliman! If you trust me, if you want Angron driven out, then follow my command, now!"
Guilliman drew a deep breath.
The armour of fate was scarred all over, its caved-in breastplate still crushing against his body. He heard Duvette's words, and remembered everything that mortal had already shown himself capable of.
The Primarch made his decision in less than a second.
"For this battle, I place myself under your command, Duvette Erdmann!"
The instant the words left him, an unnamable power surged through every limb of Guilliman's body.
The pain in his chest and neck was forced down at once.
The armour of fate was still ruined, but Guilliman had already regained full range of motion. An even greater strength welled up from deep within his muscles, and for the first time he felt he could genuinely overpower the Angron before him.
Guilliman let out a roar and charged forward, the Emperor's Sword raised.
Angron heard the movement behind him.
He had barely turned his head before the burning Emperor's Sword was already at his chest.
Guilliman brought the blade down in a single stroke.
The golden edge tore across Angron's chest, ripping through flesh and bone, opening a wound so vast it nearly split him in two. The Emperor's fire burned deep into his daemonic essence, the wound's edges still ablaze, cutting off any hope of self-healing entirely.
Angron let out a second cry of pain.
He had no choice but to abandon Duvette, now within arm's reach, and turn to face Guilliman closing on him once more.
Duvette stared at the massive chain-axe, now only a few metres from him, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
Damn.
He'd very nearly turned and run. Thank god he'd kept his composure intact, at least on the outside.
He muttered the thought to himself, then fell back at once to stand beside the Honour Guard and the Shadow Wolves, turning his attention back to the two Primarchs.
The tide of the battle had turned.
With the triple percentage enhancement of [Flesh Engine], [King of War], and [Iron Crusade] behind him, Guilliman's speed climbed again. The Emperor's Sword left an unbroken trail of gold light through the corridor, and every time Angron swung the chain-axe, the burning blade was already waiting in the position best suited to block or strike back.
Spinegrinder came down toward the top of Guilliman's skull.
Guilliman stepped aside and caught Angron's axe-wrist in the Hand of Dominion, forcing that massive arm bodily aside by sheer strength. The Emperor's Sword drove up into the armpit a moment later, golden flame bursting out through Angron's back.
Samni'arius swung in from the side.
Guilliman met it head-on again with the Hand of Dominion, striking the flat of the blade and knocking it off course into the bulkhead beside them. He drove forward into Angron's chest, his shoulder plate slamming straight into the wound that refused to heal.
Angron staggered back from the blow.
It was the first time since his arrival that Guilliman had forced him back in a pure contest of strength.
The Red Angel let out a furious roar and flung his wings wide, trying to trap Guilliman between them. But Guilliman planted a foot against the bulkhead beside him before the wing-bones could close, using it to launch himself up and over Angron's head.
The Emperor's Sword came down.
Angron's right wing was severed at the root, blood and flame pouring down onto the deck. The Red Angel spun to swing his axe, but by then Guilliman had already landed on the other side, the blade cutting open his lower back once more.
The two Primarchs' speed had once again outpaced anything the onlookers could follow.
Golden light flared again and again around Angron's body, and the metal structure of the corridor kept giving way in pieces. Every clash of weapons sent a shock rolling through deck and bulkhead alike, unsteadying the footing of everyone nearby.
Angron was still dangerous.
Spinegrinder grazed Guilliman's shoulder plate, shearing away a great chunk of the blue-and-gold armour. The daemon sword thrust for his chest right behind it, and Guilliman twisted his body, letting the point slide along the already-ruined section of the armour of fate.
He did not give ground.
The Emperor's Sword drove into Angron's chest again, crossing the earlier wound. The Emperor's fire and the Blade of Glory's faint white light flared together, and the bond between Angron and reality began to shudder violently.
The Red Angel's body flickered, briefly losing solidity.
Guilliman seized the opening at once.
The Hand of Dominion struck Angron's jaw, snapping the Daemon Primarch's head back. The Emperor's Sword drove up from below into his throat, the burning blade passing clean through his neck and out the other side.
Angron still did not fall.
He let out a garbled roar and swung both weapons at Guilliman at once.
Guilliman stepped straight into the attack.
With his left hand, he gripped the Blade of Glory's edge where it still jutted from Angron's chest. Its blue disruption field had already shut off, yet the faint white light still clung to the blade, still tearing at the Daemon Primarch's essence.
Guilliman looked into Angron's furious eyes.
Nothing remained in them but pain and the will to kill, and yet Guilliman could still make out, somewhere within, the last trace of the brother he had known ten thousand years before.
Angron let out one final roar.
Guilliman drove both arms at once.
The Emperor's Sword in his right hand cut clean across Angron's throat, while his left hand wrenched the Blade of Glory free from the daemon's chest in the opposite direction.
There was a wet, tearing sound.
Angron's head fell to the deck.
The massive headless body remained standing for a moment longer, then toppled backward. Flame the colour of blood burst from the wounds, and the daemon flesh crumbled swiftly to ash, red lightning bursting again and again along the ruined remains.
A silent roar receded far off into the Warp.
Angron's head and body lost their solidity by degrees, finally scattering into nothing amid the Emperor's fire and the faint white glow. The mist of blood was drawn into a rift that opened from nowhere, and the Red Angel fell back into the Warp once more.
Duvette watched all of it happen.
He knew Guilliman had not truly killed his brother.
Angron still existed somewhere deep within the Warp, but the Emperor's Sword had already wounded his very essence, and [Soul Severance] had broken the anchor to reality this manifestation had formed. For a long stretch of time at least, the Red Angel would very likely be unable to appear in realspace again.
Guilliman's borrowed strength ebbed away fast.
He swayed on his feet, nearly dropping to one knee outright. The Ultramarines Honour Guard rushed forward at once, wanting to check their gene-father's wounds.
Guilliman raised a hand to stop them.
"I can still stand."
He braced himself on the Emperor's Sword and rose slowly, then walked toward Duvette. The armour of fate's breastplate was still caved in, and blood still welled fresh from the old wound at his neck, but his stride remained steady.
Guilliman held out the Blade of Glory, still gripped in his left hand, to Duvette.
The blade's blue disruption field had gone out entirely, and the faint white glow had faded away with the oath's fulfillment. The Blade of Glory had gone quiet, a small new line of script now etched into its length, as though everything that had just happened had been recorded into the steel itself.
Guilliman looked at Duvette and gave a solemn nod.
It was gratitude.
And it was, at last, genuine recognition of the "mortal" standing before him.
Duvette gave a short laugh and reached out to take the Blade of Glory back.
"Call it a victory of shared will, then."
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