The Generous Grandfather

The Plague Fleet's reckless disregard for death and their vow to oppose the Imperium to the bitter end could not alter their impending fate of defeat.

With a Primarch commanding the Imperial fleet, morale soared to unprecedented heights; Imperial commanders strove with all their might to avoid even the slightest error, lest they lose the chance to be noticed by the Primarch.

With morale bolstered and the Imperial fleet outnumbering the Plague Fleet, it was a classic case of overwhelming force—it would be harder to lose than to win.

The Chaos fleet showed no signs of coordination; shortly after the engagement began, they were carved up by the Imperium and forced into a state of fighting isolated, individual battles.

"Maintain course, destroy their flagship, and secure victory." Guilliman gazed at the image of the Plague Fleet on the tactical projection. Within the enemy formation lay a massive battleship, covered in filth, sprouting nauseating flesh, and riddled with malicious eyes that stared out across the battlefield.

That ship had been thoroughly corrupted by the Warp; the flesh and filth were the clearest proof of this.

"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 it as the primary target. Load all Macro-cannons, set Lances to maximum power, and fire the Prow Cannon."

Following Guilliman's words, the bridge of the Macragge's Honour became exceptionally busy as technicians, supervisors, and Tech-Priests scrambled to execute the Primarch's orders to the letter.

The lower decks of the Macragge's Honour were even more frantic.

Junior officers barked angry orders at the crew, occasionally cracking whips or kicking those whose speed failed to satisfy them.

Rumbling giant cranes hoisted shells from the elevators up to the gun decks to be loaded into the Macro-cannons.

Tech-Priests maintained the complex energy conduits and secondary Logis Engines, chanting prayers to the Omnissiah in binary, beseeching the holy Machine Spirit to keep the warship functioning.

At Guilliman's command, the entire Imperial fleet accelerated to launch a final assault against the Plague Fleet.

Guilliman ignored all else, focusing his mind on the enemy flagship to seek out vulnerabilities in its Void Shields.

A battleship, measuring between ten and twenty kilometers in length, could easily reduce an unprotected world to ash.

Beyond carrying massive cargo, such a vast hull allowed for the use of thicker, more stable Void Shields.

The core of a battleship was hidden deep within, protected by layers of Void Shields and several meters of armored hull.

Under normal circumstances, a battleship could withstand hours of bombardment.

Guilliman had no intention of waiting that long; if a group of pathetic enemies could hold him back for so long, how could he ever hope to crush Chaos or stomp out the greenskins?

Information from the Auspex and data-radars flowed rapidly through Guilliman's pupils.

He could read a page of data faster than an ordinary human could blink.

A Primarch could process massive amounts of information in seconds and make the optimal decision.

Soon, the weakness of the Chaos flagship emerged in Guilliman's mind.

There, a section of the Void Shield was flickering; it was unstable, indicating a malfunction in the pulse regulation device of the shield generator.

"That flagship—target these coordinates." Guilliman spoke with absolute confidence. His hands danced across the data-slate, pressing keys to activate holographic markers amidst the blur.

The flagship's data was processed by the Logis Engine and projected as a hologram, with several light points appearing to indicate the weaknesses of the Chaos vessel.

The relevant orders were transmitted across the fleet via data-link, and a series of confirmations returned from the communications officers.

"The entire fleet has locked onto the target."

"Then strike. Let us end this space battle once and for all."

Guilliman said.

The maneuvering Imperial fleet tightened like a fishing net, drowning the Chaos ships in an overwhelming deluge of fire.

Even the enemy flagship suffered repeated hits, its shield generators flickering violently under the strain.

Countless Lances and torpedoes instantly blanketed the exposed hull.

Under the combined assault of innumerable nuclear warheads, Macro-cannon shells, torpedoes, and Lances, the massive flagship held out for less than thirty seconds.

A giant pillar of fire erupted from the center of the hull; under the bombardment, its spine snapped. A second later, the reactor detonated, and a miniature sun engulfed the Chaos flagship in a perfectly shaped yellow sphere.

Standing on the bridge, Guilliman felt a flash of intense light, which then faded away.

The photo-reactive filters on the command deck's observation ports automatically shifted to solid black to protect the crew.

With the flagship destroyed, the remaining Chaos ships no longer posed a threat.

Guilliman ordered Brecht to handle the cleanup, and just then, footsteps approached.

Donas, the Chief Librarian of the Dawn Star Chapter, clad in power armor, walked up to Guilliman.

"My Lord, we have detected abnormal fluctuations on the surface of Sara II. The veil between reality and the Warp is thinning; those Plague Warriors are attempting to summon their allies."

"Then we must increase our speed." Images of what those traitors might be doing flashed through Guilliman's mind—things no normal person could endure. Merely witnessing those evil rituals could invite corruption.

To summon the Daemons of the Warp, one must perform bloody and cruel sacrifices.

After sacrificing blood, agony, and souls, those Unliving would gain bodies to walk in the material universe, bringing massive casualties to humanity.

"Prepare for combat; we must descend to the surface to purge that filth," Guilliman said. "I will make the Daemons of the Warp regret and despair that they ever entered this world."

Sara Planet.

On the outskirts of Grix Hive.

Gazing at the flickering Void Shield of humanity's final fortress, Gurlo wore an expression of disgust.

These humans were stubborn, thoroughly brainwashed by the Corpse Emperor, foolishly rejecting the Grandfather's gifts.

Gurlo walked toward the ruined outskirts of Grix Hive, his bloated body encased in Terminator armor that dripped with foul-smelling liquid, emitting a harsh, grating sound with every step.

If anyone else were to see this scene, they would likely fear that the power armour might be burst asunder by that bloated frame.

Gurlo's Terminator Armour was an ancient model, dating back to the era of the Horus Heresy, when the Dark Mechanicum following Horus had forged a batch of brand-new Terminator Armour that far surpassed all others in power and performance.

After ten thousand years of corrosion, his armour no longer resembled its former self, now rusted and oozing with foul-smelling fluids.

Yet, having received the blessings of Nurgle, his armour had become even more formidable.

"They do not understand the Grandfather's benevolence; humans are always like this—narrow-minded and selfish." Gurlo looked toward the other Plague Warriors, whose frames were equally massive, though Gurlo remained the largest of them all.

"Generosity is the motto of Grandfather Nurgle. He is so benevolent that whoever prays to him, regardless of wealth, age, health, or disability, shall receive his generous love. Yet these humans know not how to be grateful, worshipping that rotting Corpse Emperor and refusing to accept the true power of the Dark Gods."

"We brought them gifts, yet they offered nothing in return and even viewed us as enemies; I pity them. The Corpse Emperor's progeny has already arrived. To prevent these poor souls from being controlled once more by that selfish, cruel, and greedy Corpse Emperor, we must launch the final assault as soon as possible, thoroughly crush the fortress, complete the sacrificial ritual, and turn this world into the Garden of the Grandfather."