First diplomacy, then force?
No, no, no. At the very least, they needed a patch of land suitable for gaining a foothold.
Guilliman smiled, sensing the obvious panic in the opposing camp—thanks entirely to the Psykers detonating throughout every corner of the Eye of Silence.
Guilliman's vast Imperium maintained a special kind of being: people specifically used to store Psychic Power. He had drawn inspiration from the world of ants. All he needed was to select those with similar talents, then fill them with the psychic turbulence that the Chaos Empire never lacked. After less than a century of expenditure, he could harvest a psychic bomb.
By arranging and piling these people appropriately, he could achieve astonishing results. The method was simple and brutal, especially when dealing with psychic creatures.
To compress the space aboard the suicide ships as much as possible—smaller meant harder to detect and cheaper to transport—the Psykers would have as many limbs and internal organs removed as possible, leaving only their nervous systems and brains, which were closely tied to Psychic Power. They were piled wetly within the vessels, and under Nurgle's protection, they would never die.
This was the insignificant yet exceptionally cruel capital within Guilliman's vast Imperium. Even if the other side possessed extraordinary talent and immense power—
Before Guilliman, who relied purely on numbers and logistics, they were merely mantises trying to stop a chariot.
Guilliman would never do something as foolish as having commanders duel one another. He preferred watching his soldiers grind down the enemy through blood and time.
He stood by the viewing window as the galaxy's dim light fell across the chiseled profile of the cold-blooded king. In the distance, countless people died, like brilliant fireworks blooming amid the vast, frigid universe. Their deaths would never be wasted. The