Wherever Guilliman went, victory followed; no enemy could stop him.
The Primarch's mighty body was indestructible, capable of effortlessly destroying all loathsome foes, trampling on their skulls to herald the coming of the Imperium.
The Armor of Fate and the Iron Halo shielded Guilliman from all enemy attacks; bolter rounds or malicious melta beams were blocked by the powerful force field.
Those terrifying impacts and energies were either nullified or deflected.
A Plague Marine was ruthlessly cut down by him, its bloated body gushing foul-smelling mucus and maggot-ridden flesh like a bursting abscess.
After falling to the ground, with a whoosh, a golden flame erupted.
The rotten, putrid blood burned on the battlefield, the golden light so brilliant that even the defiled soul was thoroughly purified by the Emperor's will.
Seeing the arrival and dominance of the Primarch, the other Plague Marines roared in anger, attempting to rally and use sheer numbers to defeat a Primarch.
The Honor Guard, however, steadfastly protected the Primarch, never allowing him to fall into a situation where he had to fight alone.
Clad in Terminator armor, they formed a battle circle centered around Guilliman.
To surround and attack the Primarch, they would have to get past them first.
This caused the Plague Marines' plan to fail before it even began.
Every member of the Honor Guard was an Ultramarines veteran, possessing incredibly rich combat experience and wearing massive, heavy Terminator armor.
Attempting to break through their defenses to surround Guilliman was undoubtedly a fool's errand.
Even if they could somehow manage to break through the battle circle formed by the Honor Guard, the Plague Marines would likely suffer heavy casualties and be easily harvested by Guilliman; the plan to ambush and kill the Primarch would be stillborn before it even started.
The traitors could only watch helplessly as the Primarch entered their ranks like a tiger in a flock of sheep, slaughtering their comrades at will.
The coordination between Guilliman and the Honor Guard was invincible; before them, the defensive line painstakingly built by the Plague Marines was as fragile as paper.
Under their fierce assault, Plague Marines constantly fell.
Under the pressure of the Primarch's power, the Plague Marine's defensive line continuously contracted, on the verge of being completely annihilated.
At this moment, Sicarius also fought his way in from the outskirts of the ruins, becoming the final straw that broke the enemy's back.
Leading his squad, he destroyed the enemy's anti-air and long-range firepower, providing a safe landing zone for the Astra Militarum, Titans, Knights, and other war units.
The addition of Sicarius and his men accelerated the Plague Marines' rout.
It even turned into a one-sided slaughter.
The Imperium was steadily gaining victory, and Chaos' defeat was inevitable.
"Your time is up, traitor." Looking at a Plague Marine who had risen from the trench, attempting to block the Loyalists with a bolter, Sicarius' face was filled with anger, his voice echoing from beneath his helmet, resounding all around. He ran across the battlefield, charging towards the constantly firing Plague Marine, his power sword buzzing in his hand.
The cultists along the way were all cleared by his exquisite swordsmanship, their bodies covered in cursed runes being sliced apart by the power sword.
A Plague Marine attempting to block him swung and missed, only to be cut in the leg by Sicarius' sword.
With a wounded thigh, the Plague Marine lost its support and fell to its knees.
Sicarius held a bolter in his other hand, pressing it against the enemy's helmet, and with the words, "Repent for your sins," he blew the enemy's head off.
His gaze swept across the battlefield, and he quickly found his next target. The enemy was firing a melta gun, and a loyal space marine's upper body was instantly melted, leaving behind only a steaming torso.
Sicarius ran again; he would avenge his fallen comrade.
Soon, that Plague Marine was also cut down.
Sicarius didn't stop for a moment but continued to fight fiercely.
The battlefield became a showcase for this brave warrior's swordsmanship; no enemy could escape his exquisite blade work.
His gaze was like the judgment of death; the rebels he targeted were directly declared dead.
A Plague Marine was sliced by Guilliman's sword, turning into a golden torch, falling to the ground and wailing in pain.
With its last ounce of strength, it begged for salvation from the Grandfather.
But before the Emperor's will, even the Dark Gods had to retreat; its flesh and soul were destined to be burned to ash.
"Sicarius, how are things on your end?" Guilliman asked on the comm channel.
"Everything is going smoothly, my lord. The traitors are routing, and victory is imminent," Sicarius said.
"Very good. Don't let your guard down. The traitors' ritual is very evil; even I can feel the warp boiling, that endless malice is unnerving. Clearly, they are summoning something."
"Don't worry, my lord," Sicarius shouted into the comms, and after a moment, added, "I can see a tower made of piled-up bodies; the traitors are contracting their defensive line, trying to defend that location."
"Kill them. Every heretic deserves to die, and destroy anything that looks abnormal," Guilliman's voice was deep and full of power. "Have the air force provide you with some support. Smash through their defenses with an iron fist."
The Imperial forces were coming from all directions, and they were unstoppable.
Gurlak standing high in the ruins saw it clearly, and he knew that if this continued, he would lose.
The Imperium's advance was much faster than he had anticipated.
"How much longer will the ritual take?" Gurlak looked at his second-in-command, asking in a hoarse voice.
"Soon. The warp has already responded to us, but it still needs a little preparation time."
Gurlak turned back to the battlefield, assessed the situation, and then shouted, "Release the plague bombs! Let them taste our power!"
Following Gurlak's voice, the fleshy daemon Engines were pushed forward by the Plague Marines.
Some fattened Plague Beasts were stuffed into the muzzles of the daemon Engines' cannons and launched.
These Plague Beasts were cultivated using the power of Grandfather Nurgle, having consumed countless terrible plagues.
If a normal person touched one, they would immediately be poisoned by the plague and die, being transformed into a Plague Walker within dozens of seconds.
Bang, bang, bang!
Several bloated, fat Plague Beasts, covered in tentacles and strange eyes, were hurled over the Loyalist forces, then exploded, the diseased filth raining down on the Imperial troops from high altitude.
Many warriors couldn't dodge in time; the filth splashing on their armor caused the ceramite to bubble and hiss.
The Honor Guard in Terminator armor were not in too bad a situation; the sheer thickness and force fields of the Terminator armor protected them.
Loyalist warriors in standard power armor were in a slightly more pathetic state; the armor's structure was corroded by the virulent bacteria, and electrical sparks flew out.
They stumbled, and a few of them cried out in pain.
Only Guilliman remained completely unaffected.
The diseased filth was vaporized with a hiss by an invisible force field before it even touched Guilliman.
This power wasn't solely from the armor's own defenses; it also contained a trace of mysterious power, protecting him from the warp's corruption.
"Severely wounded brothers fall back and receive treatment from the Chapter Chaplains. Everyone else, find cover. Tell those guys to bring the Titans over and crush these pieces of trash," Sicarius shouted, making temporary tactical arrangements.
The Plague Marines had just felt happy about halting the Imperium's advance, but the next second, their bloated, corrupted faces froze.
The ground was shaking; the Emperor-class Titans, known as the Wrath of God, were approaching from a distance. These behemoths were the most terrifying weapons on the battlefield.
They had built-in colossal plasma reactors to power cannons as large as buildings; a single strike could shatter any front line.
The Plague Marines were routed before the Emperor-class Titans; a beam of plasma several meters thick, emitting deadly high temperatures, engulfed everything. Nothing could withstand such slaughter, even if the Plague Marines were once the Emperor's most outstanding creations and had received the blessings of the Dark Gods.
But before those beams of destruction, they were still like ants, utterly annihilated.
Sicarius and his men advanced alongside the Emperor-class Titans, launching the final charge with the rest of the Astra Militarum.
Guilliman's progress was much faster; even without Titan support, he easily broke through the enemy's line with his powerful strength and saw the tower built from piled-up flesh.
The cultists surrounded the flesh tower, their faces filled with fanatical excitement.
"It is Entropy! It is the Great Father! Praise him!"
"Oh, merciful Father!"
"Wonderful life, wonderful!"
Looking past the excited, utterly corrupted cultists, Guilliman's gaze fell upon the leader of the rebels on the flesh tower.
The enemy wore a horned helmet and a suit of Destroyer Centurion power armor, which had only appeared in the 36th Millennium, after the Age of Apostasy.
The traitor Space Marines were not just from ten thousand years ago; some had been oppressed by the High Lords of Terra, corrupted by Chaos, or driven to rebellion by the Ecclesiarchy during these ten thousand years.
Guilliman's gaze held fury, and the golden flames rising from the Emperor's Sword in his hand grew increasingly intense.
Gurlak also looked down at the Primarch from above, his gaze carrying a hint of triumph.
"You are too late, Son of the Corpse-Emperor. This world belongs to Nurgle, to the Grandfather!"