Charging Headlong
The Warp, this Chaos sea composed of the emotions and thoughts of intelligent life, is forever churning with bizarre sights that defy explanation.
Here, fragments of concepts, crystallizations of emotions, unformed souls, and abhorrent entities intertwine and dance, following a kind of insane and twisted logic.
Against this bizarre and fantastical backdrop, a "creature" is leisurely strolling around.
It was born from the daily, year-after-year struggles of trillions of people in the Imperium for the most basic food.
More precisely, it is the most primal and intense craving for some edible substance that can sustain life and fill an empty stomach.
This longing is not a yearning for delicious food, but rather a persistent attachment to the very concept of "having something to eat" under extreme scarcity and harsh survival pressure.
Therefore, its form faithfully reflects the roots of this collective unconscious: a bloated, pale block with irregular holes and fine textures on its surface, roughly presenting a humanoid outline.
It was like a starch block made from a corpse magnified countless times and without fine processing—the perfect embodiment of "Corpse Starch," the sustenance of the Imperium's lower classes.
It exudes a strange yet simple sense of satisfaction, drifting along in a torrent of emotions, like a fat person immersed in the bliss of a full stomach.
However, the tranquility of the Warp is always fleeting.
Without warning, a golden sword light, as dazzling as the core of a supernova explosion yet condensed to its extreme, carrying the concepts of absolute order and material stability, appeared.
It tore apart the emotional vortex it was in.
The sword flashed, but there was no earth-shattering explosion, no spread of energy shockwaves.
The plump "Corpse Starch" creature, along with the Chaos energy in the small area around it, was like a pencil drawing that had been gently erased by an eraser.
It was instantly "deleted" from the level of existence, reduced to the most basic Psionic Energy dust that no longer held any special meaning, and quickly dissipated into the background noise.
The swordsman didn't even glance at the Chaos byproduct he had accidentally encountered.
Robert Guilliman, clad in the "Armor of Destiny," wields the Emperor's Sword, which burns with golden Psionic Energy flames.
It is carving out a relatively stable path amidst the turbulent waves of Warp.
His steps were quick and firm; with each step, the chaotic Psionic Energy turbulence beneath his feet was forcibly smoothed out and solidified into a temporary "solid ground."
A golden trail of light, quickly swallowed up by Chaos but large enough for his followers to pass through, was left behind.
His brow furrowed slightly, not because of the danger of the surrounding environment.
Rather, it was because just now, a sudden, sharp, and heavy throbbing had gripped his heart tightly.
The feeling was fleeting yet exceptionally clear, as if something connected to him by blood and of great significance had suddenly gone out.
What was lost?
The thought flashed through his mind, but was quickly suppressed by a more pressing task.
Baal is burning, Sanguinius is calling, and every second means the loss of more heroic lives.
Behind him followed a small but incredibly powerful team.
Leading the group are three legendary heroes of the Ultramarines Chapter, the top company commander known as the "Three Brothers of the Ultimate Challenge":
Malum Kaido, Sicarius, Calgar.
When these three brothers join forces, their teamwork and combined combat power are enough to briefly contend with a Primarch on the battlefield.
They were Guilliman's most trusted sword and shield, the pinnacle of Ultramar's military wisdom and bravery.
Besides them, there were two other extremely special and powerful beings in the group, bound by invisible Psionic Energy chains and closely guarded by Magnus, the Primarch the Thousand Sons:
· Angron, the World Eaters Primarch, a fallen red angel.
He was still consumed by boundless rage, his eyes bloodshot, his heavy breathing like that of a broken bellows.
Each struggle caused the Magnus- Psionic Energy chains to vibrate violently, emitting a groan of unbearable strain.
But he was, after all, bound, like a ferocious beast forcibly dragged into the battlefield.
Magnus himself, the Crimson King, despite having made grave mistakes and once sworn into Chaos, has now chosen to stand with the Imperium —at least for the time being—after reaching some profound agreement with Guilliman and experiencing numerous changes.
His vast Psionic Energy was not only used to bind Angron, but also to help Guilliman stabilize this fragile passage and dispel overly dangerous Warp entities.
A complex light flickered in his single eye, reflecting both calculations about the current mission and a deep concern for the battlefield in Baal.
Following closely behind was a full Chapter — the Lamenters.
They are a subgroup of the Blood Angels, known for their compassion and the "curse" of misfortune.
But at this moment, these eighty-three Lamenters warriors are different from what people remember them to be.
They accepted the "Primaris" upgrade based on Guilliman's new essence, but not the standard procedure of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
This kind of modification goes deeper, directly affecting genes and the essence of existence.
Each of them gained an extension of Guilliman's "Smart Atoms" properties, with a weak, controllable, material-stabilizing force field surrounding their bodies.
This allows them to levitate and fly with the speed and agility of high-ranking space lords, relying solely on their will and bio-energy field, without needing to rely on Jump Pack or external devices.
Their muscle strength has been enhanced to the point that they can tear apart light vehicles with their bare hands and punch through standard Ceramite Power Armour; the density and toughness of their skin and bones are astonishing, capable of withstanding direct hits from small-caliber explosive rounds; their internal circulatory system has been optimized to an unbelievable degree, allowing them to survive in a vacuum and maintain combat effectiveness for up to two weeks.
This is a crack unit where everyone is a "mini- Superman".
Their Chapter Master, Malakim, knelt before Guilliman, pleading earnestly to join the army in aiding their mother colony's homeland. His sincerity and determination finally moved the Lord Regent.
Finally, it was two thousand Ultramarines personally selected by Guilliman.
They also received the "Guilliman version" of special enhancements, although the degree may be slightly lower than that of the Lamenters, but their overall quality far surpasses that of regular Space Marines.
They were well-equipped, disciplined, and, more importantly, shared a deeper Psionic Energy and spiritual resonance with Guilliman, creating a devastating synergy on the battlefield.
Guilliman assessed that the combined combat power of these two thousand warriors, enhanced by specific tactics and their own abilities, was comparable to that of a regular Space Marines legion of two hundred thousand.
They are a true strategic strike force.
The Psionic Energy channel opened by Sanguinius with his last mark, though wondrous, has limited capacity and is extremely unstable.
Traveling such a vast Warp distance while carrying too much material is extremely risky.
This force of over two thousand people (plus two special Primarch) represents the maximum number of troops that can pass through safely and quickly under the current conditions.
However, Guilliman believed that this was enough.
Because at the heart of this team is himself—a being who is rapidly understanding and mastering his own "Vitruvian" essence and Atomic Manipulation, Psionic Energy power is constantly rising under the Emperor's blessing, and who has essentially become an embodiment of some kind of rule of the Material Universe.
He is a mobile strategic deterrent, the ultimate variable for reversing dire situations.
"Maintain formation and stay close to my path!"
Guilliman's voice, transmitted through Psionic Energy, reached the hearts of every follower, steady and powerful, dispelling the discomfort brought by the Warp Whisper:
"Baal is almost here! Prepare for the impact of the Realspace!"