Chapter 20

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On the drop deck of the Macragge's Honour, one hundred Space Marines waited for the airdrop order amidst the hum of machinery.

The battle against the plague fleet was still ongoing.

Occasionally, brilliant beams of light streaked across the cold, silent space, incredibly dazzling.

On the battlefield, some plague ships silently disintegrated in flames. The scenes of their silent shattering were quite awe-inspiring.

With their flagship destroyed, the combat power of the plague fleet decreased significantly, as they were being harvested by the Imperial fleet.

Other warships were still hunting down those plague ships that were trying to resist or escape, adding more glorious exploits to their own records.

The Macragge's Honour, however, abandoned this excellent opportunity for glory.

Compared to nebulous glory, Roboute Guilliman was more concerned with what was happening on the surface.

Those plague warriors were certainly planning some terrible, evil ritual.

It would be beneficial to stop them as soon as possible.

These one hundred Space Marines came from two different Chapters, forming a unique spearhead force.

Guilliman was attempting to let different Chapters fight together, to break from their past pattern of acting independently and in isolation.

He intended to implement a new system. In guerrilla warfare, these Chapters could fight separately, and when gathered, they could fight in formation, just like during the times of the Great Crusade.

This way, he could deploy tens of thousands of perfectly coordinated Space Marines in some large-scale battles, overwhelming any enemy. And on specific battlefields, he could allow Chapters to fight independently, improving efficiency.

Among the hundred Space Marines, fifty were Ultramarines, donned in their distinct deep-blue armor. The veterans in the front line were even equipped with Terminator armor.

The other fifty hailed from the Dawnbringer Chapter, a successor Ultramarines. Their armor was painted in grey, highlighted with touches of blue.

This chapter doesn't boast the same wealth as the traditional Ultramarines, only two or three veteran soldiers are dressed in Terminator armor, the rest wear standard issue armor.

On the deck, hundreds of tech-adepts and servitors are busy, preparing for the Space Marines' landing operation.

Space Marines clad in Terminator armor are performing self-checks with the help of the Tech-Priests, ensuring their armor is in optimal condition, and that their formidable fighting strength won't be compromised due to poor maintenance.

The ones in standard power armor, with the assistance of armory servitors, have been outfitted with towering storm shields.

Standard power armor lacks the absolute thickness of Terminator armor. In the forthcoming aerial assault, the bulky storm shields will enhance their survivability in close-quarters combat.

With a rumbling sound, the freight elevator brings the arsenal stored on the lower level up to the deck.

Chapter serfs, dressed in smart uniforms, distribute ammunition to each soldier with the assistance of the servitor workforce.

At the same time, all Space Marines conduct a final pre-battle check on their own and their comrades' armor and weapons.

The Chapter Chaplain strides through the ranks, listening to the soldiers' oaths, and affixing their oath papers to their armor with wax.

Accompanied by hissing sounds, the sacred and scorching iron seal imprints its mark on the wax.

Thanks to years of training, every member, be it a soldier or a serf, is working with flawless efficiency.

"The Macragge's has entered the planet's orbit. The airborne operation will begin in ten minutes."

This broadcast is drowned out by the noise of ongoing preparations, but there is no need for a repeat.

Space Marines, with their enhanced hearing, have clearly heard this command.

Immediately after, a deafening horn sound echoes across the deck.

All Space Marines and serfs stop their tasks, stand at attention, and look expectantly towards the direction of the archway.

In their anticipatory gazes, a majestic giant, clad in the azure Armor of Fate, strides forth to the resounding sound of horns, with the Honour Guard following closely behind.

The approaching figure is none other than Roboute Guilliman, the Imperial Regent, Lord of Ultramar, the Gene-Father of the esteemed Ultramarines, the Emperor's Thirteenth Son.

Guilliman's left hand wears the Gauntlet of Dominion, and at his waist hangs the Sword of the Emperor.

His every movement radiates power and resolve, causing ordinary people to hold their breath.

"Are you ready?" Guilliman asks the numerous Space Marines in his deep voice.

"Sir, everything is ready," says a captain from the Dawnbringer Chapter.

"We await your command, sir," says Sicarius, a captain from the Ultramarines Chapter.

The other Space Marines stand rigidly, their gazes filled with reverence and admiration as they look at Guilliman.

Adoration shone on their faces like a gleaming light. They were ready to lay down their lives for this great man at a moment's notice.

"Good," Guilliman said, staring resolutely at the assembled space marines, "It's time for the traitors to see what happens when they defy the Imperium and betray humanity. For the Empire, victory is certain!"

"Victory!" they roared, their thunderous voices drowning out all other sounds.

Sicarius, among others, was loaded into drop pods, shot like scattered flower petals towards the planet of Sarum, raining down like meteors.

This was the most common method of deployment for space marines; swift, and upon landing, the tremendous force of their descent would strike the first blow, inflicting massive initial damage.

Guilliman, along with a portion of the marines, rode in a Thunderhawk gunship for the ground assault.

Being too large for the drop pods, the Primarchs and Terminators had to be transported in heavy-duty aerial vehicles.

Sarum was engulfed in a sickly green plague fog. The launched drop pods were like cannon shells piercing into the churning toxic cloud.

"Forty seconds, prepare for battle," Sicarius shouted, as the drop pod rapidly entered Sarum's atmosphere.

The high-speed descent brought a cacophony of wind, piercingly sharp, the thick walls of the drop pod unable to entirely mute the screeching noise.

The other marines didn't respond, keeping silent, staying in optimal readiness.

As the atmosphere became denser, the rocket boosters on the bottom of the drop pod fired, releasing strong thrust flames, accelerating the descent.

The plummeting drop pod shook violently, the interior steadily heating up. Friction transformed into noise and high heat.

The entire drop sequence wouldn't exceed five minutes, including the time the drop pod flew through space.

Once in contact with the target planet's atmosphere, the thrusters would accelerate the descent, plummeting to the ground within tens of seconds.

A few dozen seconds to drop from tens of thousands of meters high, this kind of drop method would undoubtedly be suicidal for other forces. Their bodies simply couldn't withstand the force.

However, for the space marines, it was no big deal.

This kind of drop also highlighted the space marines' strength in a subtle way.

Sicarius struggled to control his emotions. All he had was noise around him; he couldn't see the enemy he was about to confront, nor his comrades in the same drop pod.

He could do nothing until the drop pod had completely landed.

Compared to this dramatic entrance, he preferred the precision deployment and rapid assault of the Stormbird.

Guilliman had a valid reason for deploying troops in drop pods.

Their pods shattered the enemy's artillery, triggering the warheads or power modules inside to explode.

This led to a chain reaction, as the neighboring warheads and power blocks also detonated, creating an even more terrifying sea of fire and series of explosions.

Those plague breakers who hadn't been torn apart by the initial blasts were quickly swallowed by the flames, their screams echoing in the chaos.

Soon, the enemy's artillery position was nothing more than a smoking ruin.

"Primary target achieved, now execute secondary objective: wipe them out and launch an attack from the rear to support the Lord," Sicarius communicated.

The plague warriors left in defense weren't many; most were cultists deceived by chaos and cowards who had sold their souls to the enemy for a few more days of life.

Armed with an array of weapons, these cultists bearing the brands and twisted tattoos of chaos charged in droves at the Space Marines.

Sicarius showed no mercy, his power sword cutting down anyone who dared to oppose him.

Whether they were mortal or plague warriors, all were cleanly slain.

One by one, the servants of chaos fell, their frail bodies torn apart by Sicarius and the other Space Marines' bolt pistols and power weapons.

Yet, more and more cultists, seduced by chaos and fearless in the face of death, swarmed in from all sides, their numbers replenishing swiftly.

Nevertheless Sicarius and his comrades remained fearless. Soon, the battlefield was littered with mutilated bodies and scattered limbs, and his cerulean power armor was covered in fresh blood.

The loyalists worked together, advancing steadily, forming a crossfire network that killed all who tried to resist them.

Soon, the bravest of the chaos servants had all been slain, with only a few desperately charging at the Space Marines, while most knelt begging for mercy.

"Please, I just wanted to survive," a female follower of Chaos pleaded, kneeling on the blood-soaked ground before Sicarius.

"For Chaos, there is no forgiveness. Even dying twice is better than betraying the Emperor. You made the wrong choice. Your bodies will be eradicated, your souls banished. Die, disgraceful traitors!"

Sicarius pulled the trigger, and the blink of a fire from the bolt pistol was the last thing she saw.

In the massive impact of the bolt, the woman before him was reduced to a heap of gore.

Any mercy towards Chaos traitors is a disgrace to the fallen loyalists.

The other kneeling servants of chaos met the same fate, shot by bolt pistols, or attacked with power weapons by the Space Marines.

Soon, where the traitors had knelt, only bloodstains and shattered corpses remained.

With the fall of the artillery position, the plague warriors had lost their anti-air firepower.

Stormbirds and Thunderhawks, warplanes designed for the battlefield, were now launched, quickly cutting through the Plague clouds and bombarding the surface, deploying Space Marines.

Dreadnoughts, heavy tanks, Knight Titans, and Emperor Titans were also sent into the fray, raining down even more devastating firepower that the Plague Warriors could not resist.

The tide of battle was swiftly turned by Roboute Guilliman and his Space Marines, tipping the scales of victory towards humanity.

Elsewhere, the Plague Warriors, cultists, and traitors that had infiltrated the fortress were engaged in their final acts of slaughter.

Gurlo stood amidst the ruins of the fortress, still as a massive, corpulent statue. His armor was covered in Plague Flies, engorged with fat. With every movement, these flies were disturbed, buzzing loudly.

In front of him, mounds of corpses were piled up, teeming with flies. His lieutenant was pouring a peculiar plague liquid, summoning the power of Nurgle.

Gurlo looked at the desperate, screaming humans in the distance, grinning, "We're almost there. The Warp ritual is about to be completed. Guilliman will find he can do nothing. This planet and those selfish souls belong to the generous father Nurgle."

"Protect the civilians and get them to the west!" Jean shouted. His bodyguards, wielding carbines and blaster guns, targeted the enemies, killing off the Plague Zombies.

Even as their defenses crumbled, Jean was prepared for death. Yet, he didn't resort to a suicidal assault; instead, he did his utmost to protect civilians and tried to facilitate their escape.

Around him, hundreds of men and women in worn, stained uniforms of the Imperial Guard were resisting the enemy with all their might. Their skin was as pale as wax, marked with wounds and scars from plagues and wars.

They all knew, whether or not they died on the battlefield, they would eventually succumb to their after-effects. But they remained resolute, fearless even in the face of certain death.

"Praise the Emperor!"

A voice full of pain and release echoed through the chaotic battlefield. A female soldier, taken down by a Plague Zombie, made her final prayer as she pulled the pin on a high-energy grenade.

The explosion wiped out every corpse and traitor within several meters. Blood and flesh rained down like a gruesome shower.

"May you rest in peace, may the Emperor have mercy on your soul," Jean muttered in his heart, continuing to shoot at the Plague corpses and cultists with his laser pistol, while constantly retreating.

"No!"

"Run, Andy, run like you used to, run like the wind!" A child's terrified cry, mixed with an elderly man's pained voice, reached Jean's ears.

Jean followed the sounds and saw an elderly man clinging desperately to the leg of a cultist. Nearby, a small boy with a shattered skull lay in a pool of blood.

A little girl was crying as she stumbled forward.

"Damn beasts," Jean seethed, adjusting his aim to shoot the cultist. At the same time, he ran over and picked up the little girl.

He didn't know why he was doing this; he was acutely aware that even if he saved the girl, he was only prolonging her suffering.

Boom!

The sound of an explosion rang out. Two soldiers beside Jean were blown to bits.

Two Plague Marines appeared on the battlefield, their bomb guns reaping the lives of the surviving soldiers.

As former angels of the Emperor, their combat prowess was undeniable. Ordinary people could only be slaughtered in front of them.

Accompanied by heavy footsteps, a Dreadnought infected with the plague and the flesh of the dead followed closely behind them.

Jean watched the Plague Marines and the infected Dreadnought march towards his remaining soldiers, his face reflecting pure despair.

His team stood no chance against these terrifying foes.

"Stupid servants of the Corpse Emperor, receive the Father's gift," a Plague Marine said.

Huh?

Before he could finish, the Plague Marine noticed a growing shadow on the ground.

Looking up, his eyes widened in shock.

A giant, wielding a flaming golden sword, descended from the sky, striking at him with his weapon.

Before he could react, the flaming golden sword cleaved him from top to bottom.

"I have arrived," the giant roared. His voice was clear and audible across the entire battlefield.