Psyker Guilliman (Please Vote)

The Hand of Dominion fired in rapid succession, its savage firepower instantly battering the Ork warlord's head.

That vivid crimson headscarf was shredded by the shockwaves. As its scraps drifted through the air, the bolt rounds' heat ignited them, and they vanished into dust amid the flames.

Yet the Ork warlord only grew angrier.

The bolt rounds could not even reach his skull, for his dozens-of-centimeters-thick knotted muscles and rough, resilient hide had forcibly stopped the projectiles.

Heavy bolt rounds capable of tearing through ceramite armor and punching through Astartes flesh could only leave bloody holes in the Ork warlord's body.

"The Greenskin Orks' Waaagh energy can often weaken ranged weapons. Looks like I can only fight him in close combat."

Guilliman thought to himself. If he had a choice, he truly did not want to engage this giant at close range.

The difference in size between them was simply too great. Even if his strongest brother, Vulkan, were here, he would have to concede inferiority.

Though a primarch's combat strength was not actually closely tied to size, Guilliman could only be extra cautious against such a crazed and violent enemy.

If he was injured, it would affect the morale and confidence of the human soldiers behind him.

Another dozen or so bolt rounds slammed into the warlord's face, leaving that vicious visage covered in wounds. The charred burns and torn flesh were horrifying to behold.

Swarsinger continued advancing, but the primarch refused to give him what he wanted, maintaining his speed advantage as he fought a mobile skirmish.

"You fear me!"

"Carrot-Head Musclebrute, face me!"

The Ork warlord roared, trying to provoke his enemy with words.

A cold smile rested on Guilliman's lips. He had gradually figured out the limits of his opponent's speed and strength, and confidence began