Chapter 26: You Are Nothing But a Worthless Demon (1/5)

"Your arrogance shall be the noose that hangs you, Primarch." The Nurgle daemon roared, and as it moved, maggots tumbled from its mouth, crawling across the ground in search of flesh.

The Nurglings within the daemon’s body clumsily mimicked the roar.

Plaguebearers and Plague Marines emerged from behind the bellowing daemon, reinforcing the enemy's precarious defensive line. The traitors had sacrificed nearly the entire population of the planet, channeling the roiling power of the Warp through the dead to tear the veil of reality and summon a daemonic legion.

"Today is the day of your demise, daemon. I shall have your own minions carry your head back, so that I may declare my return to the dark god you serve."

Guilliman began to sprint, his heavy frame causing the mold-choked earth to tremble beneath his feet. The flames erupting from the Emperor’s Sword in his hand grew ever more brilliant.

"Protect the Primarch!" the veterans of the Honour Guard bellowed, charging forward alongside him. They were fearless, undaunted even in the face of the Warp-spawned horrors.

"Kill him! Offer his soul to the Great Grandfather!" Gurlo pointed his rusted plague axe toward the charging Primarch, commanding the cultists and the remaining plague warriors to attack.

The daemons coordinated with the traitors to launch a counter-offensive against the Imperial loyalists. Rust-blight daemons, withered fiends, and a host of other Nurgle-aligned entities poured through the rift in reality like oozing, infected blood. If left unchecked, this world would soon be utterly transformed into a Daemon World—a garden for Nurgle.

Guilliman would never allow such a thing. He would banish this daemon, restore peace to this world, and reduce the leader of the rebellion to ash in the process.

With a single stroke, he cut down a daemon attempting to strike him, using the Emperor’s Sword to incinerate its soul completely. The Honour Guard rallied around their master, their devastating firepower clearing a path through the swarming enemies. They could not permanently destroy the daemons, but they could shatter their physical manifestations and banish them back into the Warp.

The Great Unclean One looked down from its vantage point, watching the lesser daemons throw themselves at Guilliman and his men with a faint smile, though it did not join the fray itself. It was waiting—waiting for the link between the Warp and realspace to solidify, so that it could channel the full measure of the Grandfather’s power and bring even more daemons into the material universe.

"Contain the other daemons and traitors; I am going to slay that damned daemon lord," Guilliman commanded over the vox-link, ordering the nearby Space Marines to intensify their attack and pin the enemy down so he could eliminate the Nurgle daemon and the leader of the traitors.

"Understood, my lord. I am attacking from the flank; the Titans will crush them," Sicarius replied to his master. They were advancing under the cover of the Titans and would soon reach the Tower of Flesh.

"Received, my lord," Fikris responded over the comms.

"Acknowledged," the Chief Librarian of the Dawnstar Chapter replied to his gene-father’s command. The Dawnstar Chapter was a successor of the Ultramarines and had been among the first to respond when Macragge came under attack. Many Ultramarine successors recruited from Ultramar, and their loyalty to Guilliman far surpassed that of other Chapters.

The Imperial loyalists quickly formed a battlefield centered on Guilliman, launching a fierce assault on the lines of daemons and traitors.

To Guilliman’s right, Space Marines advanced behind two heavy Leman Russ tanks. As the oldest heavy tank model in Imperial service, the Leman Russ’s power was legendary among the Imperium’s armored vehicles. They rumbled forward, clearing rubble and flattening the road, unleashing volleys of bolter fire, shells, and laser beams. The plague warriors and daemons defending the enemy’s left flank fought back desperately, but their meager numbers could not withstand the terrifying firepower of the Imperial loyalists. Countless enemies were torn apart, their limbs blasted away as they fell upon the battlefield.

To Guilliman’s left, two Redemptor Dreadnoughts surged forward, their servomotors buzzing and their pistons roaring in fury. The onslaught cannons mounted on their arms screamed, spitting streams of fire at the plague warriors and daemons, while their giant plasma incinerators grew white-hot with each shot, venting hissing steam.

"For the Master of Ultramar!" the Dawnstar Chief Librarian roared, shielded by the ferocious firepower of the Dreadnoughts. His force staff crackled with energy, and violent psychic power surged from his body. His projection in the Warp grew blindingly radiant; his faith granted him the strength to harness even more volatile psychic energies.

A torrent of searing fire was released, a psychic shockwave that vaulted over the ruins, scattering the daemons and traitors in its path as their rotting, nauseating bodies ignited with inextinguishable psychic flames. Burning plague warriors rolled out from behind makeshift barricades, raising their bolters to gun down the psyker. With a surge of will, the Chief Librarian seized them, crushed their bodies, and hurled their mangled remains into two other burning plague warriors, knocking them to the ground.

Yet, the plague warriors and daemons did not surrender; they attempted to join forces to push back the Empire’s ferocious assault. Disease-ridden shells rained down, killing several loyal Imperial soldiers and melting them into putrid sludge. Many daemons chose to infest the plague warriors, lending them their own strength and making them even more formidable.

Just as the battle reached a bloody stalemate, a thundering sound echoed across the field. An Emperor-class Titan stepped forward, its heavy gait shaking the ground; its plasma cannons unleashed destruction like a divine scourge, annihilating everything in their path. Even the plague warriors possessed by daemons were no match for the Emperor-class Titan; those who failed to dodge were simply crushed underfoot, popping like overripe fruit. Those who managed to dodge could not escape the Titan’s terrifying barrage.

"For the Master of Ultramar!" Sicarius’s voice rang out as they arrived from the flank, following in the wake of the Emperor-class Titan.

With the aid of the many warriors, a gap was breached. Guilliman’s Hand of Dominion shattered the skull of a daemon, and he marched toward the Tower of Flesh without further obstruction.

"Now, it is time to settle our accounts, daemon."

"You are far more annoying than Mortarion. At least he listens to the Grandfather, feeling the entropy of life in the universe, feeling both their withering and their rebirth," the Nurgle daemon said, taking up its weapon and stepping toward the Primarch.

The daemon knew well that only it was worthy of facing a Primarch; the lesser daemons were merely fodder to buy time.

The Nurgle daemon struck first, its weapon swinging toward Guilliman, only to be effortlessly parried by the Emperor’s Sword.

"Mortarion is a complete and utter fool. To think he would be so stupid as to bow at your feet. Look at you—even throwing your lot in with the Changer of Ways would be ten thousand times better than bowing to your pathetic Grandfather. Your Grandfather is weak and impotent; he is the most wretched of all the gods."

"I will not fall for your tricks. You are trying to goad me with words," the Nurgle daemon hissed.

"Yet you do not deny it, do you? That proves you also believe your Grandfather is weak and incompetent." Guilliman leaped, swinging his blade, but the Nurgle daemon dodged with an agility that defied its bloated form.

"I do not!" the Nurgle daemon roared in fury.

"Then why did you not deny it? Instead, you obsessed over whether I was trying to provoke you. Mortarion is the most pathetic of us all. My father disliked him, and the other Primarchs loathed him because he was too stupid and utterly useless. He had his authority stolen by his own subordinates and was sold to you—such stupidity is unimaginable for any other Primarch. And yet, your father accepted him with joy, which only proves that your father is a failure who prefers to collect failures. And you, too, are..."

Guilliman mocked him effortlessly, his offensive growing sharper. The combination of Primarch strength and the power of the Hand of Dominion made him incredibly formidable. Even a Great Unclean One—a Greater Daemon of Nurgle—could hardly cope with his assault.

"...a pathetic, worthless daemon."

"I will kill you!" the Nurgle daemon bellowed, driven into a rage by Guilliman’s words.

"But you cannot." Seeing the Nurgle daemon on the verge of losing control, Guilliman smiled. "Seeing you in this pathetic state, I suddenly find I do not wish to kill you. Daemons are endless; killing you or leaving you alive makes little difference. I have decided: I shall carve the word 'worthless' into your flesh, then banish you back, and give Mortarion a message while I’m at it—tell him I am coming for him."