Hit Them Back
"Dare to release swarms of insects into our home?"
A Ultramarines roars.
"Fight back!"
"No, not fighting back."
Another Ultramarines corrects.
"We'll attack! We'll wipe out their base!"
"Yes! Take it!"
There are a full 100,000 Ultramarines remaining in Ultramar.
Those were Guilliman's elite troops, specifically designed to defend their homeland.
At this moment, 50,000 of them are ready to go.
A humanoid monster empowered by 50,000 Smart Atoms, capable of flight and tearing apart Titans with its bare hands.
It's important to understand that in the Warhammer 40,000 Milky Way, no major faction is truly powerful enough to withstand the onslaught of 100,000 Ultramarines.
If they could have held out, these major powers would have unified the Milky Way hundreds of years ago.
Chaos cannot, the Zerg cannot, the Orks cannot, and the Eldar certainly cannot.
Guilliman stood on the walls of Macragge, looking down at the 50,000 blue figures gathering.
A complex emotion welled up within him—pride, anger, and a chilling murderous intent.
"Fifty thousand."
He said softly.
Is that enough?
No one answered.
Because the answer is obvious.
Fifty thousand Ultramarines would be enough to wipe that Craftworlds from the Milky Way.
"Set off."
His voice was calm.
Fifty thousand blue figures soared into the sky, a scene so spectacular it was breathtaking.
Their trails of flame left countless blue streaks in the sky, like a meteor shower, but even more terrifying than a meteor shower, because each "meteor" was a living Angel of Death.
In the hall of the Seer Council in Ulthwé, Craftworlds, the atmosphere was heavier than death itself.
The Prophet Speaker sat on his throne, his aged face filled with weariness and fear.
He held a shattered piece of crystal in his hand, the tool he had just used for prophecy.
The prophecy's outcome chilled him to the bone.
"They're here."
His voice was hoarse.
"Humanity's Ultramarines."
"Fifty thousand."
A sigh of despair echoed through the parliament hall.
Fifty thousand Ultramarines —what does that even mean?
Those were 50,000 monsters nearly at the level of the Adeptus Custodes, each capable of taking on a thousand men.
That's the combat power of 500 million ordinary Space Marines.
That was a terror powerful enough to destroy the entire Craftworlds.
"Defense."
A prophet stood up, his voice trembling.
"We need defense!"
"Activate all shields!"
"Awaken all Wraith Constructs!"
"Summon Titans!"
"At all costs!"
The other prophet shook his head, his voice filled with despair.
"Defense?"
What defense will you use?
"Our shields are like paper in front of those monsters."
"Our warriors are like ants before those monsters."
What defense do we have?
The speaker raised his hand, stopping the argument.
His voice was deep and firm.
"Defense."
Even if we can't stop it, we must stop it.
"Even in death, one should die with dignity."
"We are the Eldar, the oldest civilization in the Milky Way."
"We can't let those monkeys look down on us."
The parliament hall was deathly silent.
Then, the prophets nodded in unison.
They sprang into action, activating the defense system, awakening warriors, and summoning heroic spirits.
The entire Craftworlds trembled, not from fear, but from the approaching war.
The Ultramarines ' fleet appeared in the skies above the Craftworlds.
The warships were entirely blue, with golden eagle wings spread out at their bows, resembling a flock of giant birds spreading their wings.
They formed a dense attack formation, their cannons aimed at the massive starship.
Fifty thousand blue figures surged out of the warship and hovered in the void, a scene so spectacular it was breathtaking.
The Eldar's shield lit up.
It was a pale blue film of light that enveloped the entire Craftworlds, like a giant soap bubble.
That shield was a creation of the Eldar's most advanced technology, capable of withstanding attacks from any conventional weapon.
But the Ultramarines are not conventional weapons.
The company commander, who was leading the charge, raised his Power Sword, the blade of which was ablaze with golden flames.
His voice rang out on the communications channel, echoing throughout the entire fleet.
"Brothers, these long-eared creatures have led the swarm of insects to our home."
"It killed our civilians."
"What do you suggest we do?"
"Kill!"
Fifty thousand voices responded simultaneously, their sound shaking the heavens and the earth.
"Kill!"
The company commander swung his sword down.
Fifty thousand blue figures rushed toward the shield simultaneously.
Their fists burned with the light of Smart Atoms, and their Power Armour flowed with the power of Law of Eternity.
They crashed into the shield, which shattered instantly, like paper before them.
Countless blue fragments drifted in the void, like a blue snowfall.
The Eldar warriors charged out.
Those warriors, clad in magnificent armor, wielding Force Weapon and riding Jetbike, resembled elves from mythology.
They were so fast that mortals couldn't even catch them.
But against Ultramarines, speed is meaningless.
An Eldar warrior charged toward an Ultramarines, his Psionic Energy spear aimed at the opponent's chest.
The Ultramarines didn't dodge; he simply reached out and grabbed the spear.
The spear was like a toy in his hands; it broke with the slightest touch.
The Eldar warrior's eyes were filled with terror. He tried to retreat, but the Ultramarines's other hand had already grabbed his head.
With a gentle squeeze, the head shattered like an egg.
A Aeldari Farseer hovered in the void, surrounded by Psionic Energy lightning.
His hands drew intricate runes in front of him, and each rune exploded, knocking back several Ultramarines around him.
But those Ultramarines just shook their heads and continued charging forward.
The prophet's Psionic Energy was meaningless to them, because they possessed Smart Atoms within them that could resist any Psionic Energy attack.
The prophet was captured by an Ultramarines.
The blue giant lifted him by the neck, as if he were a chick.
The prophet struggled, his Psionic Energy surging wildly, but the Ultramarines remained motionless.
He lowered his head, his blue-gold eyes fixed on the prophet, his gaze devoid of any pity.