"Your arrogance will be your undoing, Primarch." The plague demon let out a guttural roar. As it moved, maggots fell from its mouth, squirming on the ground in search of flesh and blood.
The Nurglings within the demon's bloated body joined in, their clumsy roars filling the air.
Plague carriers and Plague Guards emerged from behind the demon, reinforcing the enemy's crumbling line of defense.
These traitors had nearly sacrificed an entire planet, using the power of the subspace stirred by the dead to tear the fabric of reality, opening a rift to summon an army of demons.
"Today marks your death, demon. I'll have your head sent back to the dark god you serve to announce my return," Guilliman declared.
With a burst of power, Guilliman charged forward, his massive form shaking the ground beneath him.
The flames licking from the Emperor's sword in his hand blazed ever brighter.
"Protect the Primarch!" shouted the veterans of the Honor Guard, rallying to Guilliman's side.
They were fearless—no demon could make them flinch.
"Kill him, and offer his soul to the Great Father!" Gurro, wielding a rusted plague ax, pointed it at the charging Primarch, signaling the cultists and remaining Plague Warriors to attack.
The demons, in cooperation with the traitors, counterattacked with brutal force.
From the rift in reality, rust demons, wither demons, and others spawned by Nurgle poured forth like sickening pus from a wound.
If left unchecked, this planet would soon become a demonic garden—a realm for Nurgle. But Guilliman would not allow that to happen. He would purge this demon scourge, restore peace to this world, and burn the rebellious leader to ash.
He cleaved through a demon that lunged at him, the flames of his Emperor's sword consuming its soul.
The Honor Guard fought fiercely, pushing through the tide of enemies with overwhelming firepower.
Though they couldn't kill the demons outright, they shattered their physical forms, banishing them back to the subspace.
Nurgle's demon observed the scene, a sinister smile curling on its bloated face as it watched its lowly minions assault Guilliman and his forces. Yet, it did nothing.
It was waiting—waiting for the rift between subspace and reality to widen, so it could unleash even more of its father's loving power upon the battlefield.
"Hold off the other demons and traitors. I will deal with their leader," Guilliman commanded through his communication.
"Understood, my lord," Sicarius responded. "I'll strike from the flank, and the Titans will crush them." The Titans were already advancing, pushing toward the Flesh Tower.
"Got it, my lord," came Phikris's voice, then another confirmation from the Aurora Chapter's chief tactician.
The Aurora Chapter, a loyal sub-group of the Ultramarines, had been the first to respond to Guilliman's call when Macragge had fallen under attack.
Their loyalty to Guilliman surpassed that of many other chapters.
The Imperial forces formed a battle line around Guilliman, launching a relentless assault on the demons and traitors.
On his right, the Space Marines advanced behind two heavy Leman Russ tanks, the oldest and most powerful tank models in the Imperial arsenal.
They rumbled forward, clearing obstacles and unleashing a barrage of bombs, shells, and laser fire. The Plague Warrior demons guarding the enemy's left flank struggled to hold their ground.
But their numbers were too few to withstand the furious onslaught of the loyalists. Many were torn apart, limbs blown off as they collapsed in the dust.
Two Redeemer Dreadnoughts followed Guilliman's right flank, their servo motors whirring as they advanced. Assault cannons roared, sending torrents of fire into the Plague Warriors and demons, while plasma incinerators boiled with heat after each shot.
"For the Lord of Ultramar!" the chief tactician of the Shushen Star Chapter roared. The force field scepter in his hand crackled as raw psychic energy surged from his body, lighting up the battlefield.
His projection in the subspace blazed with power, his faith fueling the psionic energy as it erupted into a fiery shockwave that tore through the enemy. Demons and traitors alike were incinerated by the unyielding psychic flames.
A burning Plague Warrior staggered out from behind cover, boltgun raised, but the psyker seized it with sheer willpower, crushing its body and hurling it at two other demons, knocking them to the ground.
The demons and traitors fought back fiercely, launching blade-laden shells that cut down several loyal Imperial warriors, their bodies dissolving into rancid ichor.
In the midst of the chaos, the ground trembled as an Emperor-class Titan advanced with earth-shattering steps. Its plasma cannon unleashed a devastating barrage, obliterating everything in its path.
Even Plague Warriors parasitized by demons were no match for the Titan's firepower. Those too slow to dodge were trampled, crushed beneath the Titan's massive feet.
"For the Lord of Ultramar!" Sicarius's voice rang out as they surged forward, following the Titan's advance.
The Imperial forces tore through the battlefield, opening a path for Guilliman.
The Primarch's righteous fury brought down one demon after another. With little resistance left, he made his way toward the Flesh Tower.
"Now, it's time for reckoning, demon," Guilliman said as he approached his target.
The Nurgle demon sneered. "You are far more irritating than Mortarion. At least he obeys the will of his loving father, embracing the entropy of life in the universe, the withering and rebirth that comes with it."
The demon raised its weapon, its bloated form moving toward Guilliman with a purpose.
It knew that only it, and no other demon, was worthy of fighting a Primarch. The lowly demons were mere distractions, sacrifices to delay the inevitable.
The Nurgle demon attacked first, its weapon swinging toward Guilliman, but the Primarch easily blocked the strike with his Emperor's sword.
"Mortarion is a fool," Guilliman shot back, his voice laced with disdain. "So stupid that he would bow at your feet. Look at you. You're a thousand times worse than Mortarion. You've aligned yourself with a god who thrives on decay."
"I will not fall for your words," the Nurgle demon growled.
"But you didn't deny it, did you? You can't deny the truth," Guilliman taunted. "Your father is weak—he accepts the worthless, the failed. Mortarion is proof of that. A Primarch taken by his own subordinates and sold to you like a slave. How fitting that the weak serve the weak."
Guilliman's strikes grew more furious, the combined power of a Primarch and the Emperor's fire pushing him to unparalleled strength. Even the great demon of Nurgle, a powerful servant of decay, found it hard to match Guilliman's onslaught.
"A complete failure," Guilliman sneered.
The Nurgle demon, now seething with rage, lunged toward Guilliman. "I'll kill you for your insults," it growled.
But Guilliman only smiled. "You can try, but you won't succeed. Your foolishness is almost entertaining." The Primarch paused, his blade raised. "Actually, I've changed my mind. I won't kill you. I'll just mark you as the worthless demon you are, and then send you back to where you belong. I will also send a message to Mortarion."
"That I will find him"