Chapter 22:I Have Arrived

Jie'an didn't know why he did it. Deep down, he understood—saving the little girl would not change her fate. At best, it would buy her only a few more moments of suffering before the inevitable came crashing down.

Boom!

The explosion rang out like a death knell. The two soldiers beside Jie'an were instantly obliterated, their bodies torn apart in a grotesque blossom of gore. Plague Marines stepped onto the ruined street, their bolters roaring like thunder as they harvested what remained of the surviving Guardsmen.

Once proud sons of the Emperor, these corrupted Astartes now served Nurgle, the Chaos God of decay and disease. Their armor was bloated with corruption, dripping with foul ichor and crawling with plague flies. The sigils of the Death Guard were etched into rusted ceramite, glowing with an unholy green.

Jie'an could only watch in horror as these monstrous warriors advanced. Behind them, the ground trembled—massive footsteps echoed through the ruined fortress walls.

And then it came.

A massive Contemptor-pattern Dreadnought, its once-proud form bloated with flesh and fused with rotting metal, lumbered forward. Its arms were twisted mockeries of sacred Imperial designs, and what remained of its sarcophagus was now a gaping maw, leaking foul gases and bile.

Jie'an's mouth went dry. He knew there was no way his squad could stop these monsters.

"We're finished..." he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the Plague Marines stepped forward, its rotted mouth parting in what might have been a smile. "Stupid servant of the Corpse-Emperor," it growled, raising its bolter. "Welcome the gift of the loving Father."

Suddenly, it froze.

Something was wrong.

A shadow—massive, dark, and expanding—spread across the cracked battlefield.

The Plague Marine looked up, just in time to see a figure descending from the sky like the Emperor's own wrath.

The world seemed to pause.

Then came the light.

A blazing golden sword crashed down from above, cleaving the Plague Marine in half. Fire erupted from the wound, incinerating plague-ridden flesh as the traitor fell apart, reduced to ash before it hit the ground.

The corrupted Dreadnought turned to face the new threat—but it was already too late.

The figure landed with the force of a meteor, cracking the earth beneath him. Wreathed in radiant golden armor and bearing a burning sword, he stood like a living embodiment of divine vengeance.

"I. Have. Come." His voice was a thunderclap, echoing across the battlefield, heard by every soul—mortal and daemon alike.

For a moment, even the servants of Chaos faltered.

Jie'an stared, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The massive figure before him wielded a flaming blade of impossible craftsmanship, his presence banishing the plague mist around him.

"Is that...?" Jie'an whispered.

A vox transmission crackled in his ear, distorted by static but filled with fervor. "It's him. By the Throne, it's the Primarch! It's Roboute Guilliman!"

The Lord Commander of the Imperium. The Avenging Son.

Hope ignited in Jie'an's chest, hotter than the sun. His limbs moved before his mind caught up. He raised his laspistol and roared, "For the Emperor! For the Primarch!"

Around him, the remaining Guardsmen took up the cry. The fortress, which only moments ago had been filled with despair, now echoed with the renewed zeal of soldiers who had seen a miracle.

Guilliman advanced, his strikes as precise as they were devastating. Each swing of the Emperor's Sword incinerated plague-born filth. He moved like a storm through the battlefield, bisecting a second Plague Marine with a single clean arc.

The corrupted Dreadnought attempted to retaliate, swinging a festering claw at the Primarch. Guilliman dodged effortlessly, his glowing eyes locked on the abomination. With one powerful thrust, his sword pierced the sarcophagus at the heart of the Dreadnought, igniting it from the inside. The beast exploded in a flash of divine flame and rotten gore.

Overhead, drop ships screamed through the plague-choked skies. Blue-armored warriors began to descend—Ultramarines. Reinforcements.

A new transmission came through. "This is Strike Force Ultima. All surviving Imperial units, hold the line! Help is inbound!"

Jie'an could barely believe it. The Fortress, thought lost, now had a chance.

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes as he shouted again, "For the Emperor!"

"For Guilliman!"

All across the trenches and bunkers, the battered Imperial defenders rose anew. Even those wounded pulled themselves upright to fight. Lasguns flared, missile launchers fired, and battle cries rang out with desperate fervor.

The Ultramarines hit the front lines with fury, bolters thundering. Blade met claw, and holy flame met rot.

Guilliman himself surged forward, unstoppable, a whirlwind of divine retribution. Plague Walkers were incinerated by the hundred. The traitor lines began to collapse.

The tide of battle was turning.

Jie'an, now fighting beside one of the Primarch's elite, ducked a bolt round and fired his pistol into a walking corpse's face. He grabbed a fallen Guardsman's plasma gun and joined the push forward.

Explosions erupted around them as the last of the demonic artillery attempted to cover the retreat of the Plague Marines.

Guilliman raised his voice once more, his words a rallying cry.

"This world shall not fall. Not while I still draw breath!"

Every surviving Guardsman echoed his words, the battlefield resounding with the Emperor's name.

The fortress, once on the edge of despair, now stood defiant once more.

And Jie'an—scarred, exhausted, yet burning with renewed purpose—charged forward.

They would not fall today.

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