The battlefield on Oya 4.
Daemon Fulgrim was about to crush the brat who had no idea what he was up against.
Suddenly, he stopped.
The badge in the boy's hand had lit up.
Then a towering spectral figure appeared behind the young Fulgrim.
It was a giant clad in golden armour, wielding a burning sword. His face was indistinct, but that majesty, that warmth and pressure that made people want to weep and fall to their knees, were unique in all the galaxy.
[Well done.]
A voice rang out in the boy's mind.
[My son.]
The next instant, the young Fulgrim felt his body grow infinitely taller.
Endless power poured into him. It was not the corrosive energy of the Warp, but pure psychic power imbued with order.
The Dawnbringer Power Sword in his hand instantly burst into golden flames. Its blade lengthened tenfold, becoming an enormous sword of light.
"This... this is impossible!!!"
Daemon Fulgrim screamed. For the first time, genuine fear entered his cries.
"He isn't here! He's dead! He's a corpse! He can't reach across such a vast distance..."
"Nothing is impossible!"
The young Fulgrim-or rather, Saint Fulgrim, now empowered by the Emperor's will-leapt into the air.
He traced a perfect arc through the sky. There was nothing flashy about this strike, only the absolute certainty that it would hit.
"This strike is for Ferrus Manus! The brother you murdered!"
The sword of light slashed down.
One of the Daemon Primarch's sword-bearing arms was severed at the shoulder. His daemon sword fell to the ground with a mournful cry.
"Aaaaaargh!"
"This strike is for Lyran! For the sons you betrayed!"
The boy twisted in midair, using his momentum to deliver a second strike.
Like a hot knife through butter, the golden flames sliced straight through