His physique was imposing, his frame towering; just looking at him, you knew that giant's body contained infinite, surging, terrifying power.
The sound he made was like thunder born naturally between heaven and earth, deafening, making his enemies tremble uneasily.
That was a majestic deity who should only exist in myths, yet had come to the human world out of pity for the suffering of mortals.
The difference in size between the giant and any space marine was as significant as the difference between a space marine and a mortal.
The light reflected from the azure armor was like the morning light containing hope, making people feel at ease, no longer so despairing.
This armor was clearly of extraordinary origin, the painstaking work of the top tech-priests over ten thousand years, incorporating countless advanced technologies.
The surface of the armor was covered with numerous runes, and the most striking feature was the golden Imperial Aquila with a wheat stalk background in the center of the breastplate.
Behind the majestic figure, radiating a halo, was a pure white cloak fluttering in the wind.
The face visible above the breastplate was stern and proud, like the work of the finest craftsman, utterly flawless.
Even without doing anything, he exuded a formidable pressure that came without anger.
The Iron Halo behind his head further accentuated his majestic, unapproachable aura.
That deity descended from the sky and with a single sword strike, slew a Plague Marine, leaving all enemies stunned and terrified.
His arrival signified victory.
The impact of Guilliman's landing made the ground groan under the strain, shaking the cultists into stumbling and uneasy panic.
Many traitors were trembling, having witnessed a god descend upon the battlefield.
His arrival caused the cultists and Plague Marines to freeze in place; the terrible pressure made them lose their courage.
Guilliman's inherently majestic gaze swept over the enemies, and he once again marveled at the power of the Primarch and the Armor of Fate.
Jumping from a height of sixteen hundred meters, just like that, and nothing happened.
With such a powerful body, he was definitely a little superman.
If he returned to his own world, he would kill anyone who blocked him, even a Buddha.
Jumping straight down from high altitude indeed had a significant psychological impact on the enemy; these guys were basically dumbfounded.
They originally had victory in their grasp, but then a Primarch suddenly popped out, and their morale was about to explode.
"You can't change anything, son of the Corpse-Emperor, your era is over."
The flesh-covered Plague Dreadnought was the first to roar, its massive autocannon mounted on its arm firing wildly, attempting to kill a Primarch with sheer firepower.
The Iron Halo vibrated slightly, and a visible force field enveloped Guilliman.
The enemy's artillery fire could only stir up bursts of malicious muzzle flash on the force shield.
The traitor Dreadnought's attack was weak and futile.
It couldn't break through the Primarch's defense at all.
"Die, traitor."
Guilliman strode forward, the flames rising from the Emperor's Sword becoming increasingly brilliant.
To the astonished, disbelieving gazes of the entire battlefield, the Dreadnought, forged from flesh and steel, was pierced by the Primarch's sword.
Golden flames spread along the long sword, burning fiercely on the opponent's body.
"No!"
The remains of the Plague Marine Champion in the Dreadnought sarcophagus let out a scream of agony.
Dreadnoughts all have a nutrient tank, called a living coffin, or sarcophagus.
Used to house the remains of severely wounded, dying warriors whose bodies are shattered and cannot be repaired, allowing them to continue serving.
The flesh infested with numerous maggots and the flies covering the Dreadnought, under the scorching of the golden flames, made sizzling sounds and were all burned into charcoal in the flames.
Even the alloy steel melted in the scorching golden flames, turning into molten iron.
Jason stared dumbfounded at the man who was like a god, unable to snap back to reality for a long time.
It wasn't until the whistling sound of airflow reached his ears that he lifted his head from his numb state.
Squat Thunderhawks were roaring past at low altitude, their nose-mounted lascannons unleashing las-beams, and their ventral autocannons were also sweeping automatically.
cultists and traitor soldiers were suppressed, scattering and howling.
Where the Thunderhawk gunships passed, they unleashed a sea of explosions and fire, the Imperial Air Force clearing out all enemies with extreme efficiency.
At high altitude, Stormbirds and other aircraft also swept past, conducting saturation bombing on the ground.
From high above, beams of light lances pierced through the plague clouds covering the entire planet, descending from the sky, and upon landing, carbonized and vitrified everything within a radius of several hundred meters.
Those Poxwalkers, Plague Marines, and daemon Engines were all utterly destroyed under these attacks that felt like divine wrath.
Jason was dumbfounded; the shift from the despair of near death to the victory that reversed the battle came so suddenly that he was completely unprepared.
He stared intently at the majestic giant in the azure armor; that face felt very familiar to him, yet he couldn't recall the person's true identity.
"Is he the Emperor's Archangel? I've seen him next to the Emperor's statue."
The little girl rescued by Jason pointed at the blue figure who was sweeping through everything, destroying all enemies with overwhelming force, and said.
Jason's muddled brain instantly cleared, like a flash of lightning through the fog.
"Pri-Primarch. lord Primarch, the true Lord of Ultramar."
Realizing the person's identity, Jason's words became clumsy.
The faces of the other soldiers were equally shocked; Primarchs and the Emperor had long become untraceable myths.
Ten thousand years were enough to make many things lose their original appearance.
Much ancient history had long been lost in the river of time, making it impossible to glimpse the truth of the past.
Apart from the Primarchs' homeworlds, many people doubted whether the Imperium had truly had those powerful, wise, god-like Primarchs.
And now, all suspicion would collapse on its own.
A true Primarch had appeared before the world; this was the best evidence.
Just as described in those myths, they were overwhelming and unstoppable.
Any enemy who wished to stop them would be utterly destroyed.
Realizing that the planet was saved, Jason showed a hint of ecstasy, and the despair and pessimism in his heart were swept away.
"Counter-charge! Quick, counter-charge!"
"Counter-charge! All units who hear my command, execute this order! Quick, counter-charge! We're going to win!"
Jason shouted with all his might, issuing orders to all units he could contact.
After shouting, Jason, holding his power sword and pistol, also prepared to join the charging ranks.
Victory was calling him.
Glory and victory were also calling.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
The violent coughing forced him to stop; the tearing pain in his chest made him feel like he could cough up his lungs.
His body was unprecedentedly weak; he suddenly felt too tired to move.
Fatigue seeped into every cell, making him unable to even stand.
"Are you alright, sir??"
The guards beside him saw Jason's condition and asked anxiously and uneasily.
"I'm n-not, no, *cough*"
Before he could finish speaking, Jason spat out a mouthful of blood and fell backward.
"Medic! Quick, medic!"
"Over here! Over here!"
"Sir, don't die, sir."
Jason's vision blurred; the sound of his guards shouting in distress echoed in his ears.
The little girl was shaking his body, her tone very sad.
Many people lifted him up and put him somewhere else.
Jason didn't know what it was.
Maybe it was a stretcher, or maybe a troop carrier.
Now he was very confused, his perception of the outside world was very weak, and he could only rely on hearing and touch.
Someone was crying, someone was shouting.
It seems I wasn't too annoying; at least someone would cry for me.
Jason thought to himself as his mind gradually drifted, feeling it harder and harder to think.
This gave him a little psychological comfort.
Merciful Emperor, forgive my incompetent life, and may I return to Your realm.
The tormented man uttered his final prayer, and then fell into darkness.
Guilliman strode onto the battlefield; no enemy could stop him.
Any fool who attempted to do so would meet the ultimate fate of being torn apart by him.
The arrival of the Primarch signified victory, an unstoppable victory.
"That way, my lord." The Librarian of the Aurora Chapter pointed in a direction, "There are extremely strong warp fluctuations emanating from there; the veil of reality is being weakened. The enemy's ritual is most likely over there."
Guilliman looked in the direction the other pointed; dense plague clouds shrouded the ruins, giving off a faint sense of unease. He frowned.
"Advance."
He didn't say much, merely raised the sword in his hand, signaling the other warriors to continue advancing.
In any case, stopping the enemy's ritual was the most important thing to do right now.