You Did Well, Child

"Primarch... I have failed you..."

At the edge of fading consciousness, Calgar felt a profound sense of helplessness and guilt.

A Chaos warrior seized the instant of vulnerability, his sharp power sword flashing with the cold light of death as it stabbed straight for Calgar's exposed throat!

At that critical moment, an enormous hand clad in azure armor swept in like a mountain, precisely gripping the ambusher's helmet.

"Splurt!"

Without any unnecessary movement, the massive hand merely tightened casually. The sturdy helmet and the head within warped and shattered like a nut crushed beneath a heavy hammer.

Then, the Primarch's other hand shot out like lightning, punching straight through the Chaos warrior's chest and crushing his still-beating heart in its grip!

Roboute Guilliman halted and looked down at the Chapter Master, who was half-kneeling on the ground and gasping for breath.

The distinct resonance flowing through his bloodline instantly revealed this son's identity to him.

He could sense Calgar's unshakable Loyalty, exhaustion, and resolve to die defending his honor.

So this was the legendary "ICU God of War," Calgar? He certainly had the face of a man of unyielding resolve.

A faintly teasing thought flashed through Guilliman's mind, yet a warm, approving smile like the sunlight of Macragge appeared on his face.

He bent down, his voice gentle yet filled with a reassuring strength:

"You did well, child."

Without another word, Guilliman straightened once more.

Like blue lightning, he charged back into the enemy ranks, unstoppable as he unleashed an even fiercer storm of bloodshed.

Calgar stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the Primarch's towering back, as though it could hold up the entire sky of the Imperium.

The floodgates of memory burst open. He remembered that before becoming an Ultramarine, when he had still been a slave child,

his father, whose face had long since become blurred in his memory, had once walked ahead of him in just the same way, sheltering him from the wind and rain with his not-so-broad back as he tilled barren land.

Scalding tears slipped uncontrollably from the corners of the iron-hard man's eyes.

This was not sorrow, but the excitement of a long-cherished wish fulfilled.

It was the relief of finding something to lean on, an emotional torrent born from ten thousand years of waiting finally ending in dawn!

"For Macragge! For Lord Guilliman!!"

Calgar let out a battle roar that seemed to tear from the depths of his lungs. New strength miraculously surged from his once-exhausted body!

Driven by overwhelming exhilaration and pride, he rose to his feet once more.

Clutching his power fist tight, like the most loyal of guards.

He closely followed the Primarch's charging figure, clearing every obstacle from his flanks with all he had!

"The Primarch has returned!!"

"For our gene-father!!"

Throughout Hera Fortress, every Ultramarine erupted into frenzy!

Their blood surged and their souls trembled. It was a call and resonance from the source of their genes!

Roaring, they launched a counterattack against the Chaos traitors with ten times their former ferocity.

That dazzling, towering blue figure at the heart of the battlefield was their Primarch!

They could proudly proclaim to the entire Milky Way—our father had returned!

Celestine, the Living Saint soaring through the sky, witnessed the miraculous scene below.

Watching Guilliman purge evil with an invincible bearing, her eyes shone with golden light filled with excitement and hope.

"The God-Emperor's loyal son has finally returned... The Imperium, decayed for ten thousand years, has finally welcomed the light of hope once again!"

At the same time, deep within the distant Eye of Terror, inside a Black Legion fortress.

Warmaster Abaddon was speaking with the sinister Chaos demigod and master forger, Vashtorr.

"Belisarius Cawl, that damned old tin can, is said to have forged a suit of armor for that so-called Thirteenth Primarch—the 'Armor of Fate.'"

Abaddon's voice was low, carrying a trace of barely perceptible irritation:

"Do you think he could possibly be revived with the tricks of those Eldar witches, or through the power of that armor?"

"He cannot be revived."

Vashtorr's form flickered in and out amid twisted flames and metallic smoke, its voice a mingling of countless gears and shrieking souls:

"Great Chaos Warmaster, you have already dispatched your finest forces. They will surely extinguish the Imperium's last embers completely.

The glory of the Dark Gods will eventually cover the material universe, and the Black Legion will become humanity's sole 'legitimate' power.

At that time, I will replace the rigid concept worshipped by the Adeptus Mechanicus of that false Emperor, become the only god they revere, and thereby step into the realm of true Chaos gods."

"Hmph, well said."

Abaddon clenched the fist bearing the Talon of Horus, a vicious grin spreading across his face:

"The age of the Primarchs ended long ago.

I now possess power greater than Horus had ten thousand years ago!

Go and crush Macragge completely for me!"

"Excellent." Vashtorr's tone carried greed. "It would be best if you left Guilliman's body to me.

The technology your false Emperor used to create the gene-Primarchs... is truly mouthwatering. Perhaps it will bring me much new 'inspiration.'"

"Of course. He will belong to you." Abaddon smiled with certainty, as though discussing spoils already in hand. "He will definitely belong to you."

Yet at that moment, they still did not know what manner of violent and sacred presence the "corpse that could not possibly be revived" in Macragge had become.

It was crushing the "elite" forces they had sent like ants.

The gears of Destiny had already turned in another direction.

Every surviving member of the Black Legion had fallen into unprecedented shock and terror.

For ten thousand years, they had grown accustomed to rampaging across the Milky Way.

They regarded the Imperium's territories as hunting grounds to plunder at will, and had even begun to forget the true terror of the Primarchs from ancient legends.

Until today.

Until this very moment, Roboute Guilliman used the most direct and brutal method to brand the absolute power represented by the word "Primarch" back into the depths of their souls!

"What do you mean, the age of the Primarchs is over..."

A battle-hardened Chaos veteran who had survived since the age of the Horus Heresy stared blankly at the blue giant slaughtering freely like a god descended to the battlefield, muttering in disbelief.

The bolter in his hand nearly slipped from his grasp.

"Th-this... hasn't it only just begun?"