Do Not Give Them Any Respite

Guilliman stepped out of that hatch.

The moment he set foot in the void, the starlight beneath his feet was slowly solidifying, forming a slowly unfolding staircase beneath his soles.

He walked down that staircase, leaving a slowly healing crack in the churning starlight with every step.

Behind him followed the arrayed Ultramarines, their weapons slowly burning, their heartbeats slowly synchronizing, and their breathing slowly converging into a low, repeatedly polished harmony.

That harmony was spreading across the entire battlefield, like a dawn slowly being ignited that was about to illuminate the entire planet.

When he landed on the surface of that planet, the churning green wave slowly solidified beneath his feet, forming a slowly expanding vacuum around him.

The Orks advancing toward him slowly stopped in those churning green specks of light, slowly retreating before the unfolding golden light.

His gaze pierced through those churning green waves, falling upon the Ork Clan slowly taking shape in the distance.

His voice was not loud, but every word struck fine cracks into the churning air: "I have come."

The advancing Ultramarines accelerated at the same time that voice fell.

Titus's blade was cleaving, penetrating, and tearing apart the Ork Boyz trying to flank them.

The Warbosses trying to organize a counterattack slowly shattered beneath his blade.

The Ork Boyz trying to reinforce from the rear slowly turned into drifting embers beneath his blade.

His voice was not loud: "Continue the advance. Do not give them any respite."

Sanguinius's wings slowly unfolded in the clouds of that planet.

The churning spore clouds were pushed aside, scorched, and torn apart beneath his wings.

The slowly growing mushroom groves withered, carbonized, and turned to ash beneath his wings.

His voice was not loud, but every word struck fine cracks into the churning air: "The