Titus
Guilliman's consciousness began to fluctuate violently.
The brothers' pleas, the tragic state of their offspring, the impending collapse of another crucial cornerstone of the Imperium... all these emotions intertwined and clashed.
But he forced himself to quickly regain his senses.
Having determination alone is not enough; what is needed is a practical and feasible approach.
"I know, brother! I'll go help them!" Guilliman responded firmly, with an unwavering commitment. "But I need coordinates!"
Precise Warp coordinates and Realspace positioning!
The exact location of Baal, the main entry point for the Leviathan Hive Fleet, and the current spatial conditions within the Baal System!
Without these, the fleet cannot perform effective Warp jumps; blindly jumping will only waste time and may even lead to traps!
He quickly explained the difficulties of reality, while simultaneously mobilizing the deep Psionic Energy power he had only recently acquired and was not yet fully proficient in.
This power shares the same origin as the Emperor's Psionic Energy, yet it possesses its own unique characteristic of "material stability."
He carefully guided this power, like a warm stream, toward the phantom of Sanguinius.
"I understand...I understand your difficulties, Robert."
The phantom of Sanguinius absorbed this power, the light seemingly solidifying into a barely perceptible sliver, and his voice steadied, carrying a resolute quality:
"I will... give everything I have left here to pave a path for you!"
A temporary, direct psionic portal to the edge of the Baal System's Psionic Energy!
It won't be stable, and its duration may be limited, but it allows you—allowing you to lead a contingent of elite forces—to directly cross vast distances and reach the battlefield!
His gaze was intense, filled with a sense of sacrifice and entrustment. "Take your men, take your strength, and go quickly!"
Please!
My children... every second is slipping away!
Guilliman no longer hesitated.
Sanguinius opened the passage at the cost of his last mark; this sacrifice and trust must not be betrayed.
"I understand, brother!" Guilliman's thoughts were like a sword drawn from its sheath. "Give me the signal when the passage opens!"
I'll set off immediately!
He paused, then added, his voice brimming with confidence and an understanding of his father's strength. "Don't worry about the stability of the coordinates and the path."
You provide guidance, and I will solidify it with my Psionic Energy. If necessary, my father's Psionic Energy in Terra can also provide support!
We'll be in Baal soon!
The phantom of Sanguinius gave Guilliman a deep "gaze," his eyes filled with gratitude, entrustment, and a hint of relief at finally seeing hope.
He said nothing more, and his entire golden figure began to emit an even more dazzling light, as if it were constantly burning away its own existence.
Slowly turning towards the crimson Baal vision, the wings of light on his back suddenly unfurled to their full extent.
It was as if they wanted to embrace that tragic battlefield, or as if they wanted to tear through space to open a door for reinforcements.
Guilliman's "vision" shifted away from this tragic and urgent Psionic Energy vision.
In reality, he suddenly opened his eyes on his bed in the Imperial Palace.
The bloody winds of the Baal System swept across the shattered halls and writhing fungal carpets, spreading death and a deeper, more poignant atmosphere belonging to warriors to every corner.
In this purgatory stained red by the Hive Mind, a deep blue figure stands out like a stubborn rock swimming against the current.
He is Titus.
He once belonged to the Death Guard.
About a century ago, during an extremely dangerous purification mission, his squad encountered a massive invasion by Warp entities.
In a desperate situation where his entire army was nearly wiped out, Titus, with a will and sacrifice unimaginable to mortals, single-handedly slew a manifested Greater Daemon.
The victory came at a heavy price—he was exposed to extremely concentrated Chaos and corrupting energy, and both his body and soul suffered terrible erosion.
Although he survived, his wounds healed thanks to Imperium medical care and his own resilient physique.
One of his Chaplain, known for his vigilance (or rather, paranoia), bypassed the proper channels and alerted the Inquisition.
The following century was a period of imprisonment and scrutiny for Titus that was more agonizing than death.
He was stripped of his honors and duties, spending his days in the dark cell of the Inquisition and under countless Psionic Energy tortures.
This was solely to prove a fact he had already demonstrated through his actions—his loyalty was unbreakable.
Until recent years, due to a lack of conclusive evidence of corruption, coupled with interference from certain high-ranking officials (perhaps with subtle pressure from Ultramar), the situation has become more complicated.
He was barely released and returned to service as a "monitored" soldier, carrying out peripheral missions in remote star sectors.
Destiny, a sudden and unprecedented Warp Storm swept his destroyer off its planned course.
As if tossed by an invisible giant hand, it ultimately crashed on the edge of the bloodiest battlefield in the Milky Way at that moment— Baal.
Faced with the overwhelming, all-consuming swarm of insects, Titus did not hesitate at all.
The Ultramarines and the Blood Angels have been the most steadfast and reliable allies since the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy ten thousand years ago.
This brotherhood that transcends genetic boundaries has long been ingrained in the traditions and blood of both legions.
He drew his Chainsword, and his blue Power Armour charged headlong into the crimson hell, standing shoulder to shoulder with the red-gold figure.
Ten days and ten nights.
For Space Marines, continuous high-intensity combat is not unimaginable.
But facing the endless, relentless attacks of the Tyranids, these ten days and ten nights were nothing short of eternal torment.
Titus was like a tireless war machine, appearing at the most critical points of the defensive line.
The Power Sword and Bolter reaped the lives of the Tyranids, but also endured countless claw strikes, acid attacks, and Psionic Energy shocks.
His armor was cracked and filthy, and every breath he took behind the breathing grille was laced with blood and foam, but his hand holding the sword remained steady, and his steps remained firm.
He barely closed his eyes for a single second, as if he wanted to use this endless battle to wash away the shame of a century of injustice and prove the purity of every drop of his blood.
"The Titus Brothers."
A heavy, weary voice, yet still imbued with an iron will, rang out behind him, piercing through the clamor of the battlefield.
Titus cleaved a swarming Hormagaunt in two before respectfully turning away.
Facing the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels, who had endured countless battles and carried a heavy mission through the long years, he felt the utmost respect.
Dante, a legend who lived for over 1,500 years, is a living epic of the Imperium in his very existence, and the last pillar in the desperate defense of Baal.