Guilliman was overcome with grief, and the Iron Hands were equally despondent, but they still expressed their gratitude to the primarch of the XIII Legion.
"Our primarch is dead, but the Tenth Legion has not been broken. We will personally slaughter the traitors of the Emperor's Children, without mercy or compassion." Iron Father Wayland roared.
Guilliman issued an order to every warrior:
"Gather all forces, all personnel, and all heavy weapons. No one is to remain bound by their company organization. Reorganize into new combat units on the spot, and from this moment onward, squad leaders will paint their helmets red."
"Red?" Gage asked.
"In the past, red signified punishment, but Sergeant Hill's performance has proven that inappropriate. Besides, a distinctive color will allow the chain of command to function more smoothly."
Having recovered its primarch and restored its power systems, Macragge's Honour was finally able to set sail once more. Its reactors unleashed surging power, and dazzling blue beams erupted from the stern of the colossal warship, instantly vaporizing the Word Bearers still struggling to cut through its armor.
The cruisers clinging to its hull were dragged along by that irresistible force. Unable to resist, they were flung backward when their braces snapped, utterly annihilated by the engine flames and void shields.
Once Macragge's Honour began moving, those petty foes could only become sparks amid the stars.
Captain Humeid, who was directing the warship's course, discovered something unusual. The scanning systems showed that Calth's orbital Weapon Array had changed its firing direction.
But that was far from good news.
"My lord, the Weapon Array—they've opened fire!" the captain screamed.
"At what?"
"The sun. They're firing on Calth's sun!"
Low orbit, Weapon Array control center.
Solot Chor, the Word Bearer who had fired the first shot of the betrayal and nearly killed Ultramarines Captain Luciel, received a message from Calth's surface.
It was an order from the Word Bearers' Hand of Fate, Chaplain Erebus.
The Word Bearers chaplain, who had been hiding on Calth's surface and presiding over the ritual, had completed every arrangement. The time had come.
Kor Phaeron, the overall commander in charge of space operations, nodded to Chor, signaling him to continue.
As the order was issued, the technicians at the consoles sprang into action. The Orbital Platform's Weapon Array completed its turn, and these dangerous weapons, powerful enough to annihilate an entire fleet, all aimed in the same direction.
Toward Calth's sun.
"Damn it, why is our Cogitator System so slow today?" one technician complained.
"Shut up! It must be because you've been too lax and displeased the Machine Spirit!" another Mechanicus tech-priest snapped.
Their conversation was exceedingly quiet. The Word Bearers were not easy people to deal with, and they had seen far too many prisoners and ordinary humans slaughtered as sacrifices by the Word Bearers.
The sun was not merely the core of a star system. In the Word Bearers' faith, stars were equally important. Those Possessed Marines who had first received the blessings of the Warp and fused with Warp creatures were given the name Gal Vorbak, the Blessed Sons.
The Word Bearers Legion's two senior leaders, Erebus and Kor Phaeron, had jointly brought about this ritual. The former presided over it on Calth's surface, weakening Calth's veil of reality so that the tides of the Warp could touch the real world.
The latter would carry the ritual further.
"A magnificent sacrifice. Calth's sun is also one of the offerings. We have presented the most entrancing tribute to the truth of the Warp."
"And in return, the gods will bestow their most wondrous blessings upon me."
Kor Phaeron casually pressed the main control button, and the grand orbital structure beneath him immediately began to tremble.
The Weapon Array spread across the orbit unleashed every ounce of destruction it had accumulated.
Endless energy beams, missile swarms capable of destroying starships, antimatter warheads encased in heavy metal, and highly unstable atomic weapons.
Every deadly weapon was released. They needed only eight minutes to reach the sun's surface and disrupt Calth's solar nuclear reactions through relentless bombardment.
The consequence would be the sun's rapid decay, releasing all its energy in a short span of time and becoming an unimaginably deadly supernova.
Roboute Guilliman's fleet discovered the Word Bearers' scheme, but there was nothing they could do. Nothing could stop that torrent of death.
Everything was too late.
The primarch could only stand before the auxiliary bridge's viewport and watch as the star in the prime of its life was bombarded by dense energy fire and poisoned by toxic heavy metals. Its nuclear reactions were violently disrupted, and its radiation surged within moments.
Every alarm aboard the warship blared. Blast shutters designed to block solar radiation covered the viewports, while warnings to the surface were issued at the same time.
The sun gave off an evil radiance. It transformed from a warm nurturer into a malignant destroyer. Vast sunspots emerged across its surface like hateful scars. Humanity's attacks were infinitesimal to the star, yet they had created terrifying colossal flares that burst through its atmosphere.
It was energy erupting from within the star. On a macroscopic scale, the flares resembled tongues of flame, spewing from the plasma below before falling back down.
Everyone understood that even if they drove away the Word Bearers, beautiful and fertile Calth would never return.
The scars of orbital bombardment could be repaired, and evaporated oceans might return, but if the most vital sun no longer favored life, everything would die in agony beneath immense solar radiation.
"The plan remains unchanged. The orbit and the Weapon Array must be retaken."
Guilliman spoke with absolute resolve. He did not vent his anger uselessly. He merely used every second to gather his forces while ordering the loyalists on the surface to take shelter underground.
The struggle for Calth's surface no longer held any meaning, because everything would soon be reduced to nothing.
The kill teams had assembled. Six hundred Ultramarines would be teleported to the Zezsweyred Dockyard in orbit.
This was already the vast majority of warriors Macragge's Honour could presently spare. Moreover, Roboute Guilliman had decided to lead the force personally.
"My primarch, you need not go yourself. Allow me to lead the drop assault!" Gage tried to persuade his primarch not to take another risk, but the look in his genetic father's eyes made the rest of his words die in his throat.
"We have reached the final hour. If not now, then when? My Chapter Master?"
"Are you the primarch, or am I? Obey your orders!"
Guilliman assigned command of the squads to Gage, Ventanus, and Hill. Once the kill teams made their drop, each of them would lead part of the force in decapitation strikes against the enemies at the various control towers.
With the aid of tech-priests, the primarch acquired a brand-new combat helmet. His armor received emergency maintenance. He was no longer bare-handed: his left hand bore an enormous Lightning Claw, while his right gripped a powerful master-crafted bolter.
Cobalt blue and gold adorned one another. Splendid Ultramarines insignia and aquila engravings covered his armor. Fully armed, the primarch stood at the very front, awaiting the activation of the teleportation system.
The room was filled with the pungent smell of ozone, mixed with a cold scent of dust and metal—the traces of the brutal war raging aboard the ship.
Energy began to build, and the Machine Spirit let out a high, piercing cry. In the next instant, Guilliman and the kill teams vanished once more.
The Battle of Calth arc was mainly meant to let the protagonist experience the atmosphere of the 31st millennium. He would only be able to make a difference in the next arc. Please vote and bookmark.
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