The Smart Atoms perfectly adapted to and empowered Primarch Guilliman’s physical form, bestowing upon him physical stats far surpassing even those of ordinary Viltrumites.
Particularly in defense, cellular control, and regenerative capabilities, he reached an unfathomable realm.
*CLANG—!*
Roboute Guilliman surged to his feet!
The heavy plates of the Armor of Fate snapped seamlessly around his enlarged frame with a resonant metallic clatter.
His already imposing height, bolstered by the fusion and the battle-plate, towered like a mountain.
Exceeding four meters in height, his mere presence radiated a suffocating pressure.
The entire clamorous battlefield seemed to be placed on mute.
Whether loyal Astartes or fanatical Chaos traitors, every eye was involuntarily drawn to the giant awakening from his ten-thousand-year slumber.
Under the rapid transformation of the Smart Atoms, Guilliman’s physical traits underwent subtle shifts.
Typical Viltrumite traits were black hair and black eyes.
Now, the Primarch’s potent golden lineage collided and merged with the dark bloodline of Viltrum, ultimately reaching a perfect equilibrium.
His originally blonde hair turned a deep, obsidian black, while his iconic eyes—as blue as the Macragge sky—remained.
Yet they no longer held the stillness of sleep, but a brilliant, powerful radiance like a swirling galaxy.
His face, once pale and stiffened by ten millennia in stasis, now vibrated with vital life.
The Smart Atoms swept away every micro-trauma, lingering fatigue, and legacy wound caused by his long slumber.
Guilliman looked down, his gaze falling upon Yvraine, who was still frozen in shock.
A hearty, powerful smile touched his lips:
“Your assistance is no longer required for now, emissary of the Aeldari. By my own power, I have conquered death and truly returned.”
His voice was resonant and brimming with confidence.
“And I promise you, I shall never be enveloped by death again!”
He paused, his tone growing more sincere.
“Thank you, xenos friend. Though this may be nothing more than a bargain between my Father and your Laughing God, I remain grateful that you came here in an attempt to save me.”
Next, he turned his gaze to the silent Archmagos beside him, his massive hand lightly tracing the pauldrons of the Armor of Fate.
“Thank you, Cawl. Thank you for remembering our agreement from ten thousand years ago. This ‘Fate’… I like it very much.”
Belisarius Cawl’s vocoder emitted a mechanical hum that blended excitement with immense relief.
“To serve you is my highest honor, Lord Primarch.”
Guilliman nodded, then turned his calm, majestic gaze across the chaotic sanctuary.
Only now did the Chaos Space Marines snap out of their stupor—a Primarch!
A living figure straight out of ten-thousand-year-old legends!
Was standing right before them!
Fear and madness intertwined within their hearts.
Finally, a Berserker utterly consumed by the curse of Khorne stepped forward, his massive chainaxe vibrating violently with manic fervor.
To challenge a resurrected demigod Primarch!
What glory!
What a monumental feat to offer the Blood God!
“Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!!”
He let out a blood-curdling roar, charging Guilliman like an unhinged beast.
Guilliman merely stood his ground, checking his surrounding Ultramarines sons with a single glance before they could step forward.
He watched calmly as the Berserker charged, watching the screaming chainaxe bring its brutal downswing directly toward his head—
Then, raising his armored right hand, he effortlessly snatched the roaring chainaxe—a weapon capable of rending the armor of a Leman Russ tank—mid-swing!
The high-speed whirring teeth ground against his gauntlet with a deafening screech, a shower of sparks flying in all directions, unable to penetrate a single millimeter!
“You pathetic traitor, bearing the foul blood of my treacherous brothers.”
Guilliman’s voice cut like a freezing wind across the minds of every traitor present.
“Today, I shall carry out a cleansing ten thousand years overdue!”
His other hand shot out like lightning, clamping down on the Chaos Marine’s helmet.
Under his terrifying strength, the hardened ceramite helmet deformed and shattered like soft clay!
Then—
*BANG!*
With a dull crunch, the Chaos Marine’s head—helmet and all—exploded completely like a watermelon struck by a sledgehammer!
The headless corpse staggered briefly before slumping heavily to the deck.
Guilliman flicked his hand, shaking off the gore.
Drawing himself up to his full height, his solemn, ringing voice echoed through the sanctuary and reached the battlefront outside:
“I, Roboute Guilliman, Lord of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, King of Macragge, hereby declare: I have awakened once more, and I have returned!”
His gaze finally softened, settling with immense strength upon all his blood-soaked Ultramarines.
In those sky-blue eyes burned a father’s love and unwavering resolve.
He smiled, his voice echoing in every corner:
“You have fought well, my sons.”
“Now, it is time for your Sire—slumbering for ten thousand years—to fulfill his duty!”
The Primarch stepped away from the throne that had bound him for ten millennia, descending the high dais with measured steps.
Each step was as heavy as a mountain, yet carried the momentum of thunder, as though a god of war from ancient mythology had finally set foot upon the mortal battlefield.
He wielded no weapons; his armored gauntlets alone were the ultimate instruments of slaughter.
Wherever he trod, warriors of the Black Legion fell like stalks of wheat before a hurricane.
Whether Chaos Lords clad in massive Terminator plate or Berserkers bellowing Khornate hymns, all were pitifully fragile before the Primarch’s fists.
A casual strike carried power far surpassing a point-blank bolt shell, blasting traitors and armor alike into flying shreds of metal and flesh, painting brutal murals across the floor of the sanctuary.
Meanwhile, Chapter Master Calgar was locked in a desperate struggle, deep within a Black Legion encirclement.
His stamina had long been pushed past its absolute limit.
Since the onset of the Chaos invasion, through sheer willpower and martial mastery alone, he had personally cut down over twenty Chaos Space Marines!
These were no ordinary rank-and-file, but the elite bodyguards of Warmaster Abaddon himself.
Among them were veterans of a ten-thousand-year Heresy, their bodies warped by the Warp through countless battles.
That Calgar had held out this long was nothing short of a miracle.
Yet he had paid a grueling price; his power armor was shattered in numerous places, blood seeping continuously from the cracks.