Amidst the flames and fog, Sicarius and the other loyalists stalked from their drop pods, joining the fray with ruthless precision.
The hum of his power sword filled the air, and in a single, fluid motion, he cleaved two cultists into pieces, their bodies falling lifeless to the ground. Without hesitation, he charged toward a Plague Warrior holding a rusty bolt gun.
The Plague Warrior attempted to fire, but Sicarius was too quick, easily dodging the shot.
His swordsmanship was unparalleled, and his combat awareness, a hallmark of Ultramarines, set him apart. With the power armor enhancing his strength and agility, he crossed the battlefield in mere seconds, navigating through enemy fire and weaving past a tomahawk strike. In one swift, backhanded motion, he drove his sword into the bloated belly of the Plague Warrior.
The strike was clean, precise, and executed with an elegance that spoke to the artistry of death itself.
The Plague Warrior looked down at the wound in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock. Before he could react, Sicarius struck again, severing the creature's head from its shoulders. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud, its eyes still wide, frozen in terror.
Foul-smelling pus oozed from the gaping wound, and maggots twisted and writhed in the body's remains.
Without missing a beat, Sicarius swapped his sword for a bolt gun, unleashing a barrage of fire. The explosive rounds tore through another traitor's chest, and the Plague Warrior's already outdated armor burst open, releasing a vile mixture of pus and rotting flesh.
The creature's chainsaw sword fell to the ground with a clang, its eyes—now devoid of life—staring in horror. Its gruesome mouth screamed silently, doomed to slowly perish without a host.
Sicarius and the other loyalists made their way to the enemy's artillery positions.
"For the Lord of Ultramar!" Sicarius bellowed, his bolter spitting fire at the artillery and plague blasters.
"For the Lord of Ultramar!" others echoed.
"For the Emperor, for Guilliman!" Their rallying cries filled the battlefield.
The bolter rounds exploded against the artillery, detonating shells and energy modules, triggering a chain reaction that sent flames and shrapnel into the air.
The surviving plague blasters were quickly engulfed in fire, their screams echoing as they were consumed by the inferno.
Within moments, the enemy's artillery positions were reduced to smoking ruins.
"The primary objective is complete. Now, we move on to the secondary goals. Clean them up," Sicarius ordered, sending a communication. "Let's attack from the rear and support our commanders."
With the plague warriors nearly wiped out, the remaining forces consisted mainly of cultists—misled pawns of Chaos and desperate cowards who had sold their souls for fleeting days of life.
These traitors, armed with crude weapons, charged forward in droves, their faces branded with chaotic markings and distorted tattoos.
Sicarius showed no mercy, cutting down those who dared stand against him. With every swing of his power sword, whether it was a mortal or a Plague Warrior, he ended their lives swiftly, leaving no room for mercy.
The Chaos minions fell in droves, torn apart by the barrage of bolter fire and the brutal strikes of Sicarius and his fellow Space Marines.
More cultists, driven mad by Chaos, continued to pour in from every direction. Their numbers seemed endless, yet Sicarius and his squad pressed on without hesitation.
The battlefield became a sea of blood and dismembered limbs, the bodies of the fallen scattered across the terrain. Even the azure armor of the Ultramarines was splattered with the blood of their enemies.
But still, the loyalists fought on, moving in unison, their firepower cutting down anything that dared resist. Soon, only the bravest of the traitors remained, and even they were swiftly eradicated. The remainder knelt, begging for mercy.
"Please, I just want to live..." A woman, trembling in fear, knelt before the Emperor's Angels.
"For Chaos, there is no forgiveness," Sicarius replied coldly. "Better to die a thousand deaths than to betray the Emperor. You have made your choice. Your flesh will be obliterated, and your soul cast into oblivion. Die, traitor."
He pulled the trigger, and a hail of fire erupted from his bolter, turning the woman into a pile of rotting flesh in an instant.
Sicarius showed no remorse as he and his brothers continued to execute the remaining traitors. Their bolters and power weapons delivered swift justice, cutting down anyone who dared kneel in defiance.
With the artillery positions destroyed and the last of the Plague Warriors lost, the skies above erupted with the sound of Stormbirds, Thunderhawks, and other fighters diving through the plague clouds. They bombed the surface and dropped more Space Marines into the fray.
Dreadnoughts, heavy tanks, Knight Titans, and even Emperor Titans joined the battle, unleashing a torrent of destruction that the Plague Warriors had no hope of resisting.
The tide of battle quickly shifted in favor of the loyalists, the forces of Chaos retreating as their positions were obliterated.
On the other side, the Plague Warriors, cultists, and traitors that had poured into the fortress were making their last stand.
Amidst the destruction stood Gurlo, a grotesque, bloated figure, his armor teeming with fat, plague-ridden flies. As he moved, the flies swarmed around him, buzzing incessantly.
Before him lay piles of corpses, their flesh consumed by the flies, and a dark ritual was taking shape. With one hand, he poured a special plague liquid, summoning the power of Nurgle.
Gurlo's laughter echoed through the battlefield as he gazed at the chaos unfolding around him. "It's nearly done. The warp ritual is almost complete. Guilliman will find that he cannot stop this. This world belongs to Nurgle's father, and so do the souls of these selfish mortals."
"Protect the civilians, push them west!" Jie'an shouted, his bodyguards opening fire with carbines and burst guns, cutting down the plague-ridden horrors.
Even as their defenses faltered, Jie'an continued to fight, determined to protect the civilians as much as possible, knowing his own death was inevitable.
Around him, hundreds of Imperial Guard soldiers, their uniforms stained and tattered, fought with grim determination. Their skin was pale and cracked, the wounds of war etched into their bodies, yet they showed no fear, even as death loomed closer.
"Praise him," a voice filled with pain and relief cried out, a final prayer as a female soldier, struggling against the plague horrors, pulled the pin of a grenade.
The explosion that followed engulfed everything in its radius, tearing apart the Plague Warriors and cultists in a bloody explosion.
"May you rest in peace, and may the Emperor have mercy on your soul," Jie'an muttered as he fired his laser pistol, his voice quiet in the chaos.
He continued to retreat, knowing that the enemy was closing in fast.
"DON'TT!!!" A child's scream rang out, followed by an old man's desperate cry.
Jie'an turned just in time to see an old man clinging to the feet of a cultist, while a little boy lay dead in a pool of blood. A little girl, crying, staggered forward.
Jie'an, filled with anger, turned his gun on the cultist, shooting it down before rushing to scoop up the little girl. He didn't know why he did it—he knew it wouldn't save her, only prolong her suffering for a while longer—but it was a brief moment of kindness in the midst of chaos.
Suddenly, a massive explosion rang out, killing two of Jie'an's soldiers as they were consumed by the blast.
Two Plague Warriors emerged from the smoke, their bolters mowing down the remaining soldiers.
Behind them, a monstrous mech, a Dreadnought infected with plague flesh, followed, bringing a new wave of terror to the battlefield.
Jie'an, his hope nearly gone, could only watch in despair as the Plague Warriors and their grotesque companion closed in on his remaining men.
The Plague Warrior grinned, its voice taunting. "Stupid servant of the Corpse Emperor, welcome the gift of a loving father."
But before it could say another word, a shadow fell across the battlefield. The Plague Warrior's eyes widened in confusion as it looked up, only to witness the arrival of a massive figure, a giant descending from the sky with a flaming golden sword.
With a roar that shook the very air, the giant swung his sword down, cleaving the Plague Warrior in two.
"I've come," the giant's voice bellowed, the sound echoing across the war-torn landscape.