“My Primarch… I have failed you…”
On the brink of losing consciousness, Calgar felt a deep sense of helplessness and self-reproach.
A Chaos Space Marine seized his momentary lapse in defense.
A gleaming power sword carried a cold ray of death, lunging straight for his exposed neck!
At that critical juncture, a massive, cobalt-blue armored hand swung across like an unyielding mountain, clamping down precisely on the attacker’s helmet!
*Splat!*
Without a single superfluous movement, the massive hand crushed inward.
The reinforced helmet—along with the skull inside—deformed and shattered like a nut hit by a sledgehammer.
Immediately after, the Primarch’s other hand thrust out like lightning, punching straight through the Chaos warrior’s chestplate and crushing his still-beating heart in his palm!
Roboute Guilliman paused, stopping to look down at the Chapter Master kneeling before him, gasping for breath.
The unmistakable resonance echoing through his lineage instantly made this son’s identity clear.
He could feel the thick, undeniable loyalty emanating from Calgar, alongside his exhaustion and a resolute willingness to die defending his honor.
*Is this the legendary ‘ICU Battle God’ Calgar?
He certainly has a tenacious, unyielding face.*
A lighthearted thought flickered through Guilliman’s mind, but his face softened into a warm, approving smile, radiant as the sunlight over Macragge.
He bent down, his voice gentle yet carrying a deeply reassuring power:
“You have done well, child.”
Without another word, Guilliman drew himself up to his full, imposing height once more.
Like a blue bolt of lightning, he plunged back into the enemy ranks, invincible and peerless, unleashing an even fiercer storm of blood and gore.
Calgar stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the Primarch’s towering back—a figure that looked capable of holding up the very heavens of the Imperium.
The floodgates of his memory burst open.
He still remembered that before he became an Ultramarine, back when he was merely a slave child…
His biological father, whose face had long since faded from memory, had walked ahead of him in much the same way, using a narrow back to shield him from the wind and rain while tilling the barren earth.
Scalding tears spilled uncontrollably from the hardened warrior’s eyes.
This was not sorrow, but the overwhelming surge of a long-cherished wish finally granted.
It was the relief of finding a rock for his soul, an emotional torrent born from ten thousand years of waiting finally meeting the dawn!
“For Macragge! For Lord Guilliman!!”
Calgar let out a war cry that sounded as if it might rip his lungs apart.
Miraculously, new strength surged out from his drained body!
Driven by absolute ecstasy and honor, he forced himself back to his feet.
Gripping his power fists tightly like the ultimate guardian, he fell into step right behind the Primarch’s charging figure, doing everything in his power to clear the flanks for his gene-father!
“The Primarch has returned!!”
“For the Gene-Father!!”
Throughout the Fortress of Hera, every single Ultramarine erupted!
Their blood boiled and their souls trembled in resonance—a call echoing from the very origin of their genetic code!
They roared, launching a counteroffensive against the Chaos traitors ten times more fierce than before.
That dazzling, gigantic blue figure at the center of the battlefield was their Primarch!
They could proudly proclaim to the entire galaxy—their father had returned!
Soaring through the air, Living Saint Celestine witnessed the miraculous scene below.
Watching Guilliman sweep away evil with invincible power, her eyes shimmered with a golden light of excitement and hope.
“The God-Emperor’s loyal son has finally returned… The Imperium, decayed for ten thousand years, finally beholds the light of hope once again!”
***
Meanwhile, deep within the distant Eye of Terror, inside the fortress of the Black Legion…
Warmaster Abaddon was conversing with that grand, sinister Chaos demigod, Vashtorr the Arkifane.
“Belisarius Cawl, that damned old tin can, supposedly forged an armor for that so-called Thirteenth Primarch—the ‘Armor of Fate.'”
Abaddon’s voice was low, carrying a barely perceptible edge of irritation.
“Tell me, is it possible he used the tricks of those Eldar hags, or the power of that armor, to resurrect him?”
“He cannot be resurrected.”
Vashtorr’s silhouette flickered amid twisting flames and metallic smoke, its voice sounding like a discordant chorus of grinding gears and shrieking souls.
“Great Warmaster of Chaos, you have already dispatched your finest forces. They will utterly destroy the final embers of the Imperium. The glory of the Dark Gods will inevitably cover the material universe, and the Black Legion shall become humanity’s sole ‘legitimacy.’ When that time comes, I shall also replace the rigid concepts worshipped by the false Emperor’s Cult Mechanicus, becoming their sole deity and stepping into the domain of true Chaos Godhood.”
“Hmph, well said.”
Abaddon tightened his fist encased in the Talon of Horus, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.
“The age of the Primarchs is long past. Now, I possess power far greater than Horus did ten thousand years ago! Go and grind Macragge into dust for me first!”
“Very well.” Vashtorr’s tone dripped with greed.
“Preferably, leave Guilliman’s body to me. Your false Emperor’s technology for creating the Primarchs… is truly mouthwatering. It might provide me with much new ‘inspiration.'”
“Naturally, he will belong to you,” Abaddon replied with absolute certainty, as if discussing a trophy already in hand.
“He will surely be yours.”
However, neither of them knew that back on Macragge, the “unresurrectable corpse” they spoke of…
Was currently crushing the “elites” they sent like mere ants, displaying a violent and sacred majesty.
The gears of fate had already shifted direction.
Every surviving member of the Black Legion fell into unprecedented shock and terror.
For ten thousand years, they had grown accustomed to running rampant across the galaxy.
They treated the Imperium’s domain as a hunting ground where they could take whatever they pleased, gradually forgetting the true terror of the Primarchs from ancient legend.
Until today.
Until this very moment, as Roboute Guilliman used the most direct, brutal method to brand the absolute power represented by the title “Primarch” back into the depths of their souls!
“What do you mean the age of the Primarchs is past…”
A battle-hardened Chaos veteran who had survived since the Horus Heresy muttered in dazed disbelief as he watched the blue giant slaughtered indiscriminately like a god descending to earth.
The bolter in his grip nearly slipped from his hands.
“Hasn’t… hasn’t it only just begun?”