Make You Fly!

Guilliman's figure had already become a blue thunderbolt that tore across their vision.

With the purest, most brutal speed, he ignored the distance of space and appeared directly in front of the charging Gore as if he had teleported!

Gore saw only a flash of blue. The momentum of his frenzied charge seemed to crash into an invisible wall, coming to an abrupt halt!

An indescribably terrifying force clamped around his neck, and his feet instantly left the beloved ground!

"Urgh...?!"

His roar, filled with the thrill of slaughter, was strangled in his throat and became a brief, startled grunt.

Guilliman floated in the air, his right hand extended, his five fingers like shackles forged by the gods.

They firmly gripped Gore's neck, thicker than an ordinary man's waist and covered in grotesque armor where flesh and metal had fused together.

He lifted this more-than-three-meter-tall favored servant of Khorne into the air as easily as one might pick up a chicken or duck for slaughter!

The bloodflame battleaxe in Gore's hand dangled weakly, its flames dimming.

His limbs struggled futilely as he tried to pry apart the fingers around his neck, only to discover that those five digits covered in azure armor were as immovable as a starship's keel!

Guilliman tilted his head slightly, his eyes as azure as the purest crystal calmly looking down at Gore, whose face had reddened and whose eyes bulged from suffocation and disbelief.

His voice was calm, yet it carried an icy mockery that chilled the marrow of everyone who heard it:

"Showing off?"

"I'll make you fly!"

Holding the kicking Gore, he slowly turned around.

His gaze swept over the Chaos warriors behind Gore like a cold searchlight. Their leader had been lifted like a chick in an instant, leaving them completely petrified and plunged into dead silence.

The glow in their crimson lenses flickered uncertainly, revealing intense shock and confusion.

The Black Legion, which had just been brimming with murderous intent and ready to hunt a Primarch alongside their leader, now seemed to have been collectively frozen. They did not even know where to point their weapons.

Guilliman hefted the heavy "spoils" in his hand, a completely warmthless curve forming at the corner of his mouth.

The next second, he swung his arm in a full circle!

"Off you go."

Whoosh—BAM!!!!!

Gore, Khorne's blessed warrior, had just received the Blood God's "favor" and believed himself strong enough to take on twenty or thirty fellow warriors alone. Now, he became a humanoid meteor hammer!

Guilliman swung him one-handed, drawing a crimson-and-azure blur through the air as he smashed sideways into the stunned crowd of Chaos warriors at astonishing speed!

Crack!

Boom!

Splat—!

The teeth-grinding sound of bones and armor shattering, exploding flesh, and short terrified screams all mixed together!

At least five Chaos warriors standing in the front had no time to react before their "beloved" leader smashed them into a heap of twisted metal and splattered gore at supersonic speed!

Shattered ceramite, broken weapons, and the bloody bone spikes blasted from Gore's own body swept through the area like deadly shrapnel!

A huge section of the crowd had been cleared away. The ground was a complete mess, soaked through with blood.

Guilliman flicked nonexistent dust from his wrist.

Looking at Gore in his hand, now somewhat misshapen and dizzy but still tenaciously alive, he nodded.

"Mm, sturdy enough. Good material.

Archmagos Cawl should like this sort of 'high-activity specimen.'"

He completely ignored the Chaos warriors around him, who had been utterly terrified by the horrific sight and had begun staggering backward, as though they were merely irrelevant background scenery.

"As for you..." Guilliman's gaze swept over the remaining traitors again, and his voice suddenly dropped to freezing point. "Scum wasting rations."

He released Gore's neck.

But just as Gore was about to hit the ground, Guilliman's left hand shot out like lightning and seized his ankle.

Then, before everyone's vacant eyes.

Guilliman swung the more-than-three-meter-tall, savage-looking blessed warrior of Khorne again, as though wielding an oversized, enchanted morningstar!

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—BAM!

BAM!

Rumble!

This time, it was no longer a simple sweeping strike.

With a twist of his wrist, Guilliman accurately "smashed" Gore at the Chaos warriors trying to flee or still standing dumbstruck, from every angle and along every trajectory!

Smash, sweep, cleave, lift!

Gore's body, fused from flesh and metal and strengthened by Khorne's blessing, became the most convenient and cruelest crowd-clearing tool in Guilliman's hands.

Every swing came with the sounds of traitors' armor caving in, limbs separating, and screams being snuffed out.

Khorne's vanguard was being used as a weapon by his own "prey" to efficiently slaughter his subordinates.

Within a few breaths, scarcely any Chaos warriors remained standing. Those left were either sprawled on the ground twitching or scrambling away as though they wished they had grown two extra legs.

Guilliman stopped, holding the completely limp Gore in one hand. His armor shell was shattered all over, his body drenched in blood, and it was impossible to tell whether he was alive or dead. Guilliman held him like a dead dog.

He looked around the battlefield, which resembled a wreckage-strewn field ravaged by a meteor shower, and nodded with satisfaction.

"Job done."

He turned and winked at Kai, whose eyes were wide and whose little mouth hung open in an O.

"Let's go, kid.

I'll take you, your mother, and this 'living specimen' back to Macragge.

There's plenty to do next."

With that, he carried Gore in one hand and easily picked up Kai's unconscious mother with the other, signaling Kai to follow.

His relaxed manner made it seem as though he had not just carried out a one-sided massacre, but had merely gone to harvest a particularly noisy patch of weeds.

Kai followed blankly behind the blue giant, staring at his back, which looked capable of bearing mountains.

Then he looked at the crimson monster dangling from his hand, which had seemed like the embodiment of nightmares only moments ago...

For the first time, the young child's mind developed a profoundly overturned understanding of the words "strength" and "style."

A battle... could be fought like this?

Was this how Primarchs fought people...?

Guilliman carried the half-dead Gore in one hand and Kai's mother in the other.

With little Kai following behind him, repeatedly looking back at his unconscious mother, he slowly headed toward the noble castle that the Chaos warriors had previously occupied.

Or rather, the castle ruins.

The smell of blood and gunpowder had not yet dispersed from the air, but even more eye-catching was the viciously shaped Chaos assault craft parked in the open ground behind the castle.

It was larger than a Thunderhawk Gunship, with twisted lines and armor plates covered in blasphemous etchings and spikes, like a crouching steel scorpion.

Guilliman glanced at it, his brow slightly furrowed. Clearly, he could not praise the vessel's "aesthetic."

But his powerful senses swiftly scanned the craft's internal structure.

"Mm... The basic life-support systems are still intact. The environment is filthy, but it should be no problem housing mortals and these 'goods' for a short while," he muttered.

When he reached the assault craft's open landing ramp, Guilliman casually tossed the limp-as-mud Gore inside, producing a dull thud.

Then his figure flickered several times, a blue phantom sweeping across the surrounding battlefield.

One by one, he picked up the Chaos Space Marines whom he had smashed all over the place. They were at death's door, but still barely maintained basic vital signs.

He accurately tossed them into the assault craft's cargo hold as though throwing sacks of sand.

His movements were smooth and efficient.

"They're only being made into servitors. As long as their brain activity remains and their bodies are mostly intact, that's enough."

Guilliman clapped his hands as though he had just finished moving a batch of construction materials.

"Besides, once Cawl is done modifying them, they'll all be half-mechanical 'tools.' These injuries are nothing."

He rubbed his strong-lined chin, his azure eyes sweeping over the devastated battlefield as he calculated inwardly:

"More than two hundred killed, around a hundred captured alive... Still far from the target of a thousand.

Looks like I'll have to visit a few more places."