Battle Moon

"Everyone."

Titus spoke, his voice eerily calm:

"Do you know what we need to do next?"

An adjutant stepped forward and knelt on one knee:

"Of course, sir."

His voice was firm and powerful:

Please lead us home.

"We must be a part of that great expedition."

Another soldier also knelt down:

"The grandmother of the Ultramarines must be welcomed back by all the Ultramarines together."

Another soldier knelt down:

"Every extra bit of time we spend is an endless disgrace to us."

More soldiers knelt down:

"Shame!"

"Shame!!"

"Shame!!!"

The sound was like a tsunami, like thunder, like—

The war horn.

Titus looked at them, at those two hundred and fifty thousand burning hearts.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

It was a smile.

That was the smile of war.

"That's exactly right."

He said.

He flicked his red robe and pointed his sword forward:

"Give the order--"

"Go home!"

The entire Milky Way was trembling.

Countless Ultramarines, using every means at their disposal, began their return journey to Macragge.

Some sailed their warships recklessly through the galaxy.

Asteroids, asteroid belts, and even some insignificant space stations that blocked their path were all smashed to pieces.

Some activated Psionic Energy, traversing directly through the Warp.

Their Psionic Energy fluctuations were so intense that even the Chaos Daemons along the way fled in terror—those madmen were not to be trifled with.

Some crawled into the Webway.

That was the Eldar's transportation network, hidden in the space between the Warp and the Material Universe.

Originally, only the Eldar could use it, but the Ultramarines didn't care.

A squad of Ultramarines stormed into a city belonging to the Dark Eldar.

The Dark Eldar stared in terror at the group of blue giants, at their terrifying aura, and at their eyes burning with murderous intent.

"The Webway," the leader of the Ultramarines said. "We'll use it."

The Dark Eldar's Archon wanted to rebel.

Three seconds later, he was pinned to the ground, his face pressed against the cold floor.

"Webway," the Ultramarines repeated, "Lead the way."

The Dark Eldar obediently led the way.

It's not that they didn't want to resist.

We really can't beat them.

These blue lunatics, each one of them exuding Primarch- level pressure.

A small team, ten people.

Ten small Primarch.

How do I play?

Are you willing to fight to the death?

The Dark Eldar said: Life is more important.

So the Ultramarines swaggered into the Webway and sped off toward Macragge.

There's another squad, even crazier.

They charged straight into an Ork Empire.

The group of Orks were having a feast, roasting unknown meats, drinking some kind of brewed liquor, and chanting "Waaagh! Waaagh!"

Then, they saw the ten blue figures.

The Orks men were taken aback for a moment.

Then, they got excited.

"Waaagh! Enemy! Fight!"

They rushed forward.

Thirty seconds later.

All the Orks were pressed to the ground.

The leading Ultramarines stood atop the head of an Ork Warboss, looking down at it.

"Build a Battle Moon."

The Ork Warboss's eyes widened:

"What?"

"Battle Moon," the Ultramarines repeated. "We must return to Macragge as quickly as possible."

Your Battle Moon, fast enough.

The Ork Warboss was dumbfounded.

When have they ever been given such orders, with their Orks?

When have these Orks animals ever been trampled on like this?

They have Orks, when...

But it looked at the ten blue figures, at their terrifying aura, at their "you'll be killed if you don't behave" gaze—

It chickened out.

"Make...make..." it said, "We make..."

So, those Orks started working like crazy.

They dismantled several surrounding asteroids and used the materials to build a giant Battle Moon.

That Battle Moon was shockingly rudimentary, riddled with welding marks and crudely pieced together, but—

It can fly.

And very quickly.

The Ultramarines stood on the Battle Moon, watching Macragge ever closer.

Behind them, the group of Orks sat slumped on the ground, panting heavily.

"Damn..." one of the Orks muttered, "These blue lunatics... they're awesome..."

Another Orks rubbed his swollen face:

"Although it was fun when they beat me up, but..."

It thought for a moment:

"This battle was truly frustrating."

"Shut up," the Ork Warboss said. "You're lucky to be alive."

The Orks men fell silent.

As they gazed at the receding Battle Moon, a shared thought welled up within them:

Where did these blue-clad lunatics come from?

In the skies above Macragge, all sorts of flying vehicles are appearing.

Warships.

Psionic Energy portal.

Webway cracks.

besides--

A huge, rudimentary, spark-filled Battle Moon.

Guilliman stood in front of the palace, watching all of this.

Behind him stood the Ultramarines, who had already assembled.

One batch after another, and another batch after another.

The number is increasing.

The scene grew increasingly spectacular.

final--

Two and a half million Ultramarines have all arrived.

Not one was missing.

Before Guilliman lay a blue-gold ocean.

The ocean extends from the land to the sky, from the sky to the void, from the void to—

unlimited.

Two and a half million.

Converted to the combat power of an average Space Marines, that's 2.5 billion.

Two and a half billion.

This number is enough to strike fear into the hearts of any enemy.

This power is enough to shatter a single War in Heaven.

It was enough to make Old Ones scream, to shatter C'tan, and to make the entire Milky Way tremble.

And now, this terrifying power is only for killing—

A Necron Overlord.

The Silent King, far away in some corner, fell silent upon seeing this display.

a long time.

He murmured:

"What merit or ability does he possess...?"

"Is it worth using this force?"

"Even I'm not worthy..."

But what he didn't know was that Guilliman wanted more than just killing a hegemon.

What he wants is--

A war.

A war that will be remembered by the entire Milky Way.

A war that could serve as a celebratory gift to welcome back the mother.

A --

The war of the Son of War.

Guilliman stood before the blue-gold ocean.

Behind him stood 2.5 million Ultramarines.

In his hand was that photo album.

He opened the photo album and turned to the last page.

He looked at the photo, at the radiant smile, at those three words—

"I'm here."

He closed the photo album.

He looked up.

His voice rang in the ears of every Ultramarines:

"My children."

The voice was calm, yet it contained a power powerful enough to shake the stars.

"From this day forward, we are no longer just Ultramarines."

Two and a half million pairs of eyes were watching him at the same time.

"We are--"

He paused:

"Son of War"

At that moment, the entire Macragge was shaken.

"I will not change my name until my mother is saved."

His voice grew louder and louder:

"We won't have a moment's peace until we remove that Xenos's head!"

"Never let the entire Milky Way remember this war—"

He raised the sword in his hand:

"The war must not cease for even a moment!"

Two and a half million Ultramarines simultaneously raised their weapons.

Their voices converged into a torrent:

"Son of War!"

"Son of War!"

"Son of War!"

The sound shattered the clouds.

The sound tore through the void.

That sound made Khorne, far away in the Warp, laugh wildly with excitement.

Guilliman turned around and looked up at the endless starry sky.

A red flame burned in his eyes.

That is the flame of the Son of War.

That was the flame of anger.

That is--

The flames of revenge.

"Set off."

He said softly.

Two and a half million Ultramarines took off simultaneously.

The blue-gold ocean began to flow.

Towards that endless void.

Towards the enemy.

Towards that--

The eternal war.

The fleet set off in a grand procession.

One warship after another sailed into the void, their sheer scale causing all the civilizations along the way to tremble in fear.

The Rogue Trader watched in terror as the warships passed by their ships, not daring to breathe.

A Rogue Trader captain, because he blocked the edge of the course, was rammed directly by an Ultramarines warship.

His boat was smashed in two.

He himself was pulled from the wreckage by an Ultramarines.

"The ship..." the Ultramarines said, "Has been requisitioned."

The Rogue Trader opened his mouth, as if to say something.

But he looked into the Ultramarines's eyes, into the burning killing intent within them—

He shut his mouth.

The Ultramarines threw him onto a desolate planet, then piloted his ship and vanished into the void.

The Rogue Trader lay on that planet, gazing at the departing fleet, and murmured:

"Who exactly are these lunatics going to attack?"

No one answered him.

Only in the endless void do those two words still echo:

"Son of War"