Chapter 19: The Generous Father

Chapter 19: The Generous Father

The Plague Fleet’s reckless defiance and vow to resist the Imperium to the bitter end could not alter their impending doom.

With a Primarch presiding over the Imperial fleet, morale had soared to unprecedented heights. Imperial commanders exerted every effort to avoid even the slightest error, fearing the loss of the Primarch’s favor. With morale bolstered and the Imperial fleet outnumbering the enemy, victory was all but assured.

The Chaos fleet, lacking any semblance of coordination, was quickly splintered by the Imperial forces, leaving their vessels to fight in isolated pockets.

"Maintain course. Destroy their flagship and secure our victory." Guilliman watched the tactical projection of the Plague Fleet. Among them loomed a massive battleship, coated in filth and burgeoning with grotesque, pulsating flesh. Malignant eyes seemed to peer from its hull, fixated on the battlefield. The ship had been utterly corrupted by the Warp; the putrid flesh and grime were proof enough.

"Divert all energy to the forward void shields. First and Second Battle Groups, cease pursuit and flank the Plague Fleet. Lock onto the enemy flagship and prioritize its destruction. Load all macro-cannons, bring lance batteries to maximum power, and fire the prow cannons."

At Guilliman’s command, the bridge of the *Macragge’s Honour* erupted into a flurry of activity. Technicians, officers, and Tech-Priests scrambled to execute the Primarch’s orders with absolute precision.

On the lower decks, the atmosphere was even more frantic. Junior officers bellowed at the crew, occasionally lashing out with whips or kicking those whose pace proved unsatisfactory. Massive cranes rumbled, loading shells hoisted by elevators into the macro-cannons. Tech-Priests tended to the complex energy conduits and secondary cogitator arrays, chanting binary prayers to the Machine God, pleading with the sacred Machine Spirits to keep the vessel functioning.

Following Guilliman’s directive, the Imperial fleet surged forward, launching a final, crushing assault. Guilliman ignored all else, focusing his mind on the enemy flagship, searching for a vulnerability in its void shields. A battleship, some twenty kilometers in length, could easily incinerate an undefended world. Beyond their cargo capacity, such massive hulls allowed for thicker, more stable void shields. Their core was buried deep within, protected by layers of shielding and meters of armor. Under normal circumstances, a battleship could withstand hours of bombardment.

Guilliman, however, had no intention of waiting. If a pack of weaklings could hold him back for so long, he would never be able to strike down Chaos or trample the greenskins.

Data from the auspex and sensors streamed through Guilliman’s pupils. He processed information faster than a human could blink. A Primarch could digest vast oceans of data in seconds to reach the optimal conclusion. Soon, the weakness in the Chaos flagship manifested in his mind: a section of the void shield was flickering—unstable, indicating a malfunction in the pulse regulator of the shield generator.

"Target that flagship at these coordinates," Guilliman stated with absolute confidence. His hands danced across the data-slate, activating holographic markers. The cogitators processed the ship’s data, projecting points of weakness onto the display. The orders were transmitted instantly via data-link across the fleet, and a cascade of confirmations returned from the communications officers.

"Fleet locked on."

"Then strike. Let us end this void battle once and for all," Guilliman commanded.

The maneuvering Imperial fleet tightened like a closing net, submerging the Chaos vessels in a deluge of fire. Even the enemy flagship buckled under the repeated salvos, its shield generators flickering violently. Countless lance beams and torpedoes tore into the exposed hull.

Under the combined assault of nuclear warheads, macro-shells, torpedoes, and lances, the massive flagship lasted less than thirty seconds. A colossal pillar of fire erupted from its center, its spine snapped under the bombardment, and a second later, the reactor detonated. A miniature sun engulfed the Chaos flagship in a perfect sphere of yellow light.

Guilliman, standing on the bridge, felt the intense glare before it faded. The light-filtering shutters of the command deck’s observation ports automatically turned opaque black, shielding the crew. With the flagship destroyed, the remaining Chaos vessels posed no further threat. Guilliman delegated the cleanup to Breh and, just then, heard footsteps approaching.

Donas, Chief Librarian of the Aurora Chapter, clad in power armor, stepped before Guilliman.

"My Lord, we have detected abnormal fluctuations on the planet of Sarah II. The veil between reality and the Warp is thinning. Those plague warriors are attempting to summon their allies."

"Then we must increase our pace." Visions of the traitors' potential actions crossed Guilliman’s mind—horrors no normal human could endure. The mere sight of such vile rituals could invite corruption. To summon the daemons of the Warp required bloody and cruel sacrifices. By offering blood, pain, and souls, those entities from the void could manifest bodies in the material universe, inflicting catastrophic casualties upon humanity.

"Prepare for combat. We must descend to the surface and purge that filth," Guilliman declared. "I will make the daemons of the Warp regret ever setting foot in this world."

***

Sarah Prime, outskirts of the Glex Hive.

Gurloth gazed at the shimmering void shields of the last human fortress with an expression of disgust. These humans were obstinate, utterly brainwashed by the Corpse-Emperor, foolishly rejecting the Father's gifts.

Gurloth walked through the ruined outskirts of Glex Hive, his bloated body straining against Terminator armor that leaked foul-smelling fluids and groaned with each step. Any onlooker might have feared the armor would burst under the weight of his distended form. Gurloth’s armor was an ancient pattern from the days of the Horus Heresy, crafted by the Dark Mechanicum, far superior in power and performance to standard marks. After ten millennia of corruption, it was long past its former glory—rusted and weeping putrescence—yet, blessed by Nurgle, it had become something far more potent.

"They do not understand the Father’s love. Humans are always the same—narrow-minded and selfish," Gurloth muttered to the other plague warriors. They were equally massive, yet Gurloth remained the largest.

"Generosity is the maxim of Father Nurgle. He is so benevolent that all who pray to him—rich or poor, young or old, healthy or infirm—receive his bountiful love. Yet these humans show no gratitude, worshipping that decaying Corpse-Emperor and refusing the true power of the Dark Gods."

"We bring them gifts, and they offer only enmity in return. I pity them. The Corpse-Emperor’s spawn has arrived. To spare these wretched souls from being further controlled by that selfish, cruel, and greedy master, we must launch our final assault, shatter the fortress, complete the sacrifice, and turn this world into the Father’s garden."