"Let me go," Celestine stepped forward, her voice resolute.
Guilliman turned to glance at her, his gaze laden with complexity.
In his opinion, much like Greyfax, Celestine wasn't a true living saint of the Emperor but someone genetically flawed—akin to his brother Sanguinius—that had sprouted wings due to some anomaly. If someone had to confront Kairos, Guilliman would rather it not be Celestine.
"I will handle this Warp abomination myself," Greyfax declared, loading a phase bolt into her crossbow.
The phase bolt was a rare reward from Host after the Battle of Cadia—a weapon potent enough to potentially kill even a being as formidable as Abaddon with a single, well-placed shot.
"You're not enough," Guilliman stated after a moment of calm calculation. In his assessment, Greyfax had no tangible advantage against Kairos.
After another brief pause, his gaze shifted to two alien allies standing quietly in the shadows of the bridge: Yvraine and the Visarch.
The two Drukhari had been silent observers thus far, standing aloof as though detached from the chaos surrounding them.
Guilliman was well aware of their capabilities. Though neither Yvraine nor the Visarch excelled in psychic combat, their extensive experience in the galaxy's many battlefields made them better suited to understanding Kairos—a creature of the Warp—than he himself might be.
"Come with me," Guilliman ordered, striding purposefully out of the bridge.
"With you?" Yvraine questioned, slipping her arm through Guilliman's. "As a leader, shouldn't you remain here to command?"
"I've already issued every order I can. All that remains is execution," he replied, casting a brief glance at the holographic display—a detailed map of *Macragge's Honour* with indicators marking the various battles raging across the vessel.
When the boarding assault began, Guilliman had methodically deployed every resource available to stem the tide, exhausting every contingency. Yet the sheer number of enemy forces was staggering.
Huron Blackheart possessed an operational acumen Abaddon lacked; his warband had grown to a force of legion proportions. Guilliman had stretched his own forces to their limits—there was simply nothing more he could do.
"And us?" Celestine inquired.
"You will remain here, awaiting further orders. I'll use you as a rapid-response force when necessary." Guilliman turned to Cawl, tapping the side of his helm. "Keep me updated in real time. I'll adjust the strategy as the situation develops."
"You do know I'm a warrior too, don't you?" Cawl asked, gripping his long axe.
Guilliman nodded, then shook his head. "Focus on repairing the dimensional engine. Leave the rest to me."
Having said all that needed to be said, Guilliman departed with Yvraine, the Visarch, and his Ultramarines escort, heading toward the central corridor where Kairos awaited.
As they moved through the ship's passageways, the distant echoes of deranged chanting grew louder, gnawing at Guilliman's patience and resolve.
Yvraine noticed his unease and ventured a warning. "You shouldn't be coming with us. This could well be a trap."
"If a powerful Warp entity sacrifices two million lives to fuel a ritual, how do I escape its effects?" Guilliman asked.
Yvraine turned to the Visarch for guidance, but he simply shook his head.
There was no avoiding its influence.
The odds were stacked overwhelmingly against them. They were in the Maelstrom, where the Warp's touch was ever-present. Guilliman's iron will and relentless intellect were his strengths, yet they were also vulnerabilities—Kairos knew this and had exploited them masterfully. Armed with the *Staff of Tomorrow* and the *Book of Fates*, the Daemon Prince of Change had orchestrated an intricate web of deceit.
"You remind me of the C'tan," Yvraine murmured suddenly, her cryptic words drawing Guilliman's attention.
She elaborated, recounting the tale of Asagorath, the Nightbringer, and the grand trap laid for him by the ancient Aeldari gods and their Craftworld cousins during the War in Heaven.
Through an elaborate ritual, twelve planets had been aligned to form an accursed omen—a bane so potent that it shattered the Nightbringer's body.
"Kairos has laid a similar snare for you," Yvraine concluded. "It knows you too well. Every step you take furthers its design. Whatever choice you make..." She drew a deep breath. "Fate has you ensnared."
"If there is no escape from fate, I'll choose to tear Kairos apart," Guilliman growled, his voice filled with righteous fury.
He recalled the survivors of the daemon worlds—souls stolen by Kairos and doomed to eternal torment. Such an existence was more horrifying than death itself.
The faintest glimmer of hope flickered as Yvraine added, "Perhaps, not all is set in stone."
But Guilliman didn't hear her. His burning gaze had already locked onto Kairos at the far end of the corridor.
Anger surged through him, raw and searing, filling the space beneath his armor. The *Armour of Fate* gleamed as his fury became palpable, his steps growing faster and heavier.
Kairos, holding the *Staff of Tomorrow*, turned its many eyes toward him. The pages of the *Book of Fates* began to turn, each inscribed with blasphemous prophecies foretelling futures yet unwritten.
This was no mere encounter; it was a carefully orchestrated confrontation. Kairos was surrounded by red-armored Chaos Terminators and traitor guardsmen, their bodies twisted into grotesque forms by the daemon's corrupting gaze. Even a contingent of Thousand Sons was beginning to arrive.
In that moment, Guilliman understood. This was not solely Kairos's plan; it bore the mark of another—his accursed "brother."
"For the Changer of Ways!"
"For the Master of the Five Hundred Worlds! For the Emperor!"
The Ultramarines, emboldened by their Primarch's wrath, launched themselves into battle, clashing against traitors and abominations.
Guilliman strode forward with unyielding purpose, his *Hand of Dominion* crushing or incinerating anything that dared stand in his way.
Sensing the Primarch's unwavering intent, Kairos retreated behind its shield of allies. It knew Guilliman's target was none other than itself.