Manus

But he had no head.

There was a clean cut on his neck.

That was the mark left by a sword.

That was a head severed by Fulgrim's sword ten thousand years ago during the Horus Heresy.

Fulgrim, Primarch the Third Legion, Lord of the Emperor's Children.

He was once a perfectionist artist, but later fell into the depravity of Slaanesh, the Daemon Prince.

In the famous Battle of Isstvan III, he engaged in a thrilling duel with Ferrus Manus.

In the end, his sword, enhanced by Chaos, severed Ferrus Manus's head.

But at this moment, a new head is growing from that neck.

Golden Psionic Energy light condensed there, transforming into flesh and blood, into bones, into—

Skull.

The head gradually took shape.

That face was resolute and furious.

Those eyes burned with golden flames.

That's Ferrus Manus.

The X Legion Primarch.

Lord of the Iron Hands Legion.

For the first time since his head was severed by Fulgrim ten thousand years ago—

Return to the world.

He opened his eyes.

His eyes burned with a raging fury.

That anger was directed at the traitor.

That anger was directed at Chaos.

That rage was directed at all enemies who dared to harm humanity.

He looked at Guilliman.

His lips parted slightly.

The voice was deep and hoarse, carrying the rage of ten thousand years:

"Brother."

Guilliman almost burst into tears.

That was his brother.

Those were his brothers who had fought alongside him.

Those were brothers I thought I would never see again.

"Ferrus Manus ..."

His voice trembled:

"You..."

Ferrus Manus didn't say anything more.

He simply raised his iron hammer, pointing it at the approaching Necrons army, at the still-roaring Dorn, at—

enemy.

Go ahead.

The Emperor's voice rang out once more:

"This is the Bound Legion. You will lead them into battle."

"You will bring back my seventh son."

The golden flames burned even more fiercely before Guilliman:

"The four-dimensional space that incinerates the Necrons!"

"My son!!!"

Guilliman took a deep breath.

He reached out his hand, towards the golden flame.

Within the flames, a sword is slowly emerging.

The sword was long and slender, with a sharp blade, and a golden Aquila was inlaid on the guard.

It was the symbol of Emperor, the emblem of Imperium of Man, and a sacred object that struck fear into the hearts of countless enemies.

That is the Emperor's Sword.

It is the strongest sword.

yes--

His sword.

Guilliman gripped the hilt of his sword.

At that moment, he felt an immense power.

That power does not come from the Material Universe, nor from Psionic Energy, nor from anything external.

That power came from my father.

It comes from trust.

From --

like.

He held the Emperor's Sword horizontally at his side.

Golden flames ignited in his eyes.

"Although we weren't dealing with demons."

He said softly:

"But the strongest sword will always be the strongest sword."

He took a step forward.

Behind them, the Bound Legion simultaneously stepped forward.

The footsteps were perfectly synchronized and deafening.

Ferrus Manus stood beside him, his hammer raised high.

The golden flames surrounded them, burning, roaring, waiting—

The order to charge.

Guilliman swung his sword forward.

"Kill."

That golden torrent engulfed the eerie green four-dimensional space.

The Bound Legion charged at the forefront.

Those warriors who had died were now unleashing a power even more terrifying than they had in life.

The Astra Militarum soldiers pierced the Necron Warriors ' chests with bayonets.

Their bayonets were coated with golden flames, a blessing from the Emperor, capable of scorching the Living Metal cores of the Necrons.

The Sisters of Battle tore the Necron Warriors's body apart with her Chainsword.

Their Chainsword hummed, and with each swing, fragments of the Necrons flew everywhere.

They sang hymns praising the Emperor, and the songs themselves were a weapon.

The Space Marines smashed the Necron Warriors's head with his Power Fist.

Their movements were precise and efficient, each strike targeting the Necrons's weaknesses.

Golden arcs of electricity crackled across those Power Fist, capable of directly destroying the Necrons's core control system.

The Adeptus Custodes used their halberds to send the Necron Warriors flying, where he exploded into pieces mid-air.

Their movements were elegant yet deadly, like a meticulously choreographed dance.

With each swing of the halberd, several Necrons fell simultaneously.

Ferrus Manus charged ahead.

With each swing of his hammer, at least ten Necron Warriors were smashed into iron discs.

With each roar of his, the souls of countless Necron Warriors —if they had souls at all—trembled.

His eyes burned with golden flames, flames more intense than anyone else's.

Because his anger was deeper than anyone else's.

Ten thousand years.

Ten thousand years of death.

A wait of ten thousand years.

Ten thousand years--

He yearned for revenge.

At this moment, he finally returned.

Finally, we can fight.

Finally, I can--

They tore the enemy apart.

"For the Emperor!"

He roared and smashed a Necron Overlord to pieces with a single blow.

"For humanity!"

Another hammer blow shattered a row of Necron Warriors.

"For--"

He paused, looking in Guilliman's direction:

"For my brothers!"

Guilliman also charged into the fray.

With each swing of his Emperor's Sword, countless Necron Warriors fell.

The golden light on that sword was the nemesis of these Necrons.

Wherever the light passed, eerie green energy scattered, the Necrons's body disintegrated, and even the recovery system could not reassemble it.

He moved with impunity.

The 250,000- Necrons army was as fragile as paper before him.

But Guilliman's gaze remained fixed in that direction.

Staring at that golden figure.

He stared at his seventh brother.

Dorn is locked in combat with a group of warriors from the Bound Legion.

His sword still rages, his roar still echoes:

Horus! Horus! Where are you?!

The warriors of the Bound Legion were like toys in his presence.

One sword strike each, and they were all sent flying.

But more surged in.

There was no fear in their eyes, only loyalty.

Their bodies may be destroyed, but their souls will never perish.

They wanted to create an opportunity for Guilliman through their own sacrifice.

Guilliman watched as his warriors were Dorn away by Dorn one after another, and a pang of sorrow welled up in his heart.

That wasn't Dorn's fault.

That was Dorn under control.

That was Dorn being used.

That is--

His brother.

He rushed forward.

"Seventh Brother!"

He parried Dorn's sword with a single stroke:

Wake up!

Dorn looked at him, a flicker of emotion flashing in his blood-red eyes.

But that fluctuation lasted only a moment.

The next second, he roared and pounced on him again:

Horus! I swear to kill you!

Guilliman sighed.

He knew that words were no longer of any use.

Only--

Use a sword.

He raised the Emperor's Sword.

The golden light illuminated Dorn's face.

It illuminated that distorted, crazed face, yet still vaguely resembling its former self.

"Seventh Brother."

He said softly:

"Sorry."

A flash of sword light.

The battle is finally over.

The 250,000- Necrons army was completely annihilated.

Dorn and the Krork were subdued and sealed away.

The warriors of the Bound Legion stood on the battlefield, silently watching Guilliman.

Ferrus Manus walked over to Guilliman.