The giant's physique was awe-inspiring and towering. It was evident, simply by his presence, that within him surged an immense and terrifying power.
His voice, like a thunderbolt born from the heavens, resonated with such force that it shook the enemy to their core.
He was a figure out of myth—one who should only exist in tales, yet here he stood, sent from the heavens out of compassion for the suffering of mortals.
The difference in size between a giant and any Space Marine was vast—like the difference between a Space Marine and an ordinary man.
The gleam of his azure armor reflected a brilliance akin to the first light of dawn, a beacon of hope that eased the despair in the hearts of those who saw it.
The armor itself was of an extraordinary origin, crafted through the labor of the greatest sages of the Mechanicum, its creation spanning millennia and blending countless advanced technologies.
Runes adorned its surface, but the most striking feature was the golden imperial double-headed eagle at the center of the breastplate, encircled by wheat ears, a symbol of strength and perseverance.
Behind him, a white cloak fluttered in the air, billowing with an almost ethereal presence.
His face, exposed above the breastplate, was cold and resolute, a masterpiece of craftsmanship—flawless in every detail.
Even without uttering a word, his very presence exuded an unyielding power, a silent command that demanded respect.
The iron cross halo around his head further accentuated his majestic, invincible aura.
As he descended from the heavens, he cleaved through the plague warrior with a single strike, leaving the enemy stunned, trembling in the wake of his power.
His arrival was a harbinger of victory.
The ground trembled beneath him as he landed, the shockwaves reverberating through the battlefield, causing the cultists to stagger and panic.
Many traitors quaked at the sight of a god descending upon them.
His presence alone froze the plague warriors in place, their courage evaporating under the weight of his power.
Guilliman surveyed the battlefield with a gaze of quiet authority, once again marveling at the might of the Primarch and the invincible Armor of Destiny.
At an altitude of 1,600 meters, one could leap without fear, the laws of physics a mere suggestion in the face of such power.
A hero forged with divine might, an unstoppable force.
The psychological impact on the enemy was devastating, their shock evident as they stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded by his arrival.
Victory had seemed certain, but with the appearance of a Primarch, the enemy's resolve began to crumble.
"You can't change anything, son of the corpse emperor. Your time is over."
The Plague Dreadnought, a monstrous creation of flesh and steel, was the first to roar, unleashing its powerful arm-mounted artillery in a futile attempt to strike down the Primarch.
A faint shimmer of the Iron Cross halo vibrated slightly as Guilliman stood unfazed, his protective force field deflecting the assault effortlessly.
The traitor Dauntless' attacks were laughably weak, unable to pierce the defense of the Primarch.
"Die, traitor."
With those words, Guilliman charged forward, his Emperor's Sword blazing with a fiery light that grew ever brighter.
In the stunned silence of the battlefield, the unstoppable force of Guilliman's sword pierced the Dreadnought's hide, igniting golden flames that spread across its body.
The Dreadnought's champion, trapped in its burning sarcophagus, let out a scream, the horrible sounds of sizzling flesh and melting steel filling the air.
The plague-ridden remains were incinerated, the intense heat turning them into cinders, while even the alloy armor melted into a bubbling, molten pool of metal.
Jie'an stood frozen, his mind unable to process the divine being before him.
It wasn't until the roar of a Thunderhawk gunship tore through the air, its burst cannon firing beams that rained down on the heretics, that Jie'an snapped out of his daze.
The Imperial forces were sweeping through the battlefield with relentless efficiency, the Thunderhawk and Stormbird bombarding the enemy from above.
The plague clouds parted as spears of light rained down, scorching everything in their path. Plague warriors, demon engines, and all in their wake were obliterated.
Jie'an, in awe, slowly realized that the planet was saved. The despair he had felt just moments before was replaced by a flicker of hope.
He looked once more at the figure in azure, the face now etched in his memory. There was something familiar about him, but the realization took time to settle in.
"Is he the Emperor's archangel? I've seen him beside the Emperor's statue."
The little girl, saved by Jie'an, pointed at the figure as it cut through the enemy forces.
In that instant, Jie'an's mind cleared, a moment of clarity like lightning breaking through the fog.
"Primarch. Son of the Emperor. The true Lord of Ultramar."
The truth struck him like a thunderbolt. He stood in the presence of a living Primarch—an undeniable, living myth.
His thoughts were consumed by the awe and fear of witnessing the power of such a being.
"Back charge! Quick, forward, everyone!" Jie'an shouted, his voice brimming with newfound hope as he rallied the troops.
Victory was within their grasp.
But before he could act, a violent cough wracked his body, followed by a pain so sharp it almost felt as if his heart would tear.
His limbs grew weak, the fatigue so overwhelming that he could no longer stand.
"Are you all right, sir?" a guard asked anxiously, his voice filled with concern.
"I… I'm… fine," Jie'an attempted to respond, but a fit of coughing interrupted him. Blood spilled from his mouth, and he collapsed, his vision fading to black.
"Medic! We need a medic!" someone shouted in panic.
The sounds of shouts, cries, and the rush of feet around him became distant, muffled by the growing darkness in his mind.
The little girl's cries, filled with sorrow, reached his ears as he was lifted, his body now too weak to comprehend what was happening.
He no longer had the strength to fight the darkness closing in around him.
In his fading thoughts, a prayer escaped his lips:
"Benevolent Emperor, forgive me for my failures… and may I return to your realm."
With those words, Jie'an slipped into the abyss of darkness.
Meanwhile, Guilliman pressed on, his every step a harbinger of victory, no enemy daring to challenge him.
For anyone foolish enough to try, the Primarch would tear them asunder, unstoppable.
"My Lord," the chief strategist of the Aurora Star war group said, pointing to a distant location. "Powerful subspace fluctuations are being emitted from there. The enemy's ritual might be happening in that direction."
Guilliman turned his gaze in the indicated direction, the thick plague clouds hanging ominously over the ruins. A sense of unease settled over him.
"Move ahead," he ordered, raising his sword to signal the forces to advance.
The enemy's ritual was the most pressing concern, and it would be stopped.