"For the Emperor! For Holy Terra!"
With Khârn's fall, the warriors of the Imperium erupted with unprecedented morale. All believed they would win under the Emperor's Avatar and His Angels of Death. They had defeated the vile Orks; now they would defeat the Chaos traitors.
Ultramarines' blue armor gleamed beneath golden light. The Battle Sisters' flamers roared, purging Chaos filth. Even mortal soldiers raised their lasguns and charged the collapsing Chaotic line with a roar.
The Chaos front began to crumble. Deprived of the Blood God's chosen, the Chaos Space Marines fell into disarray. Their mutating flesh twisted and collapsed under the Avatar's afterglow.
Khorne berserkers still roared, but their axes could no longer breach the Imperium's lines—holy flames still burned across the battlefield, and anything profane that touched them turned to ash, screaming.
"Retreat! Retreat!" a Chaos lord howled, his armor charred black by the Emperor's sacred fire.
But it was too late. Calgar raised his power gauntlets, Super Beast energy gathering at his knuckles.
"Whole Chapter—advance! Leave none alive! Exterminate these traitors!"
Blue beams of annihilation swept the field, vaporizing swathes of Chaos warriors. With the beam upgrade, Calgar's combat power had soared.
Ultramarines' heavy tanks crushed wreckage; bolter fire blanketed the sky. The Battle Sisters' purifying flame scoured every tainted inch of ground.
The Chaos army fell back in stages. Their war-cries became howls of fear. Daemons screamed and dissipated in sacred flame; traitors' flesh withered in the Emperor's wrath.
The Avatar radiated golden brilliance head to toe. Not only did that light sear daemon-flesh and destroy their souls—it also healed nearby allies, mending their wounds in an instant, and cloaked them in golden glow that made their bodies stronger.
A few mortal soldiers, working with a single Battle Sister, even brought down a Chaos Space Marine.
Though he was only an original-pattern Astartes, being felled like that still shocked the forces of Chaos.
"No! This can't be! The Blood God… would not abandon us!" a Khorne champion knelt, his axe broken, scarlet runes guttered out.
The next second, a meltagun round blew his head apart.
The Chaos Space Marines began to fall back. The Alien Barbarue, impersonating Abaddon aboard the Vengeful Spirit, put on a show of roaring orders, commanding all Chaos warriors to sally out for a fight to the death with Humanity.
"Warmaster, now is not the time. We have no means to deal with that Avatar. This one is unlike any we've faced before," said a Daemon Prince of Chaos.
In recent years of war, Avatars of the Emperor appeared often across battlefields, often with the Emperor's zombie legions.
Whenever an Avatar appeared, Imperium troops received incredible morale—but those Avatars' golden psyker power usually could only erase common daemons. This time, the Avatar's power was completely different.
Even greater daemons, Chaos Space Marines, Chaos champions, and Chaos lords turned to dust at a touch of this one's power.
Even the Blood God's chosen, Khârn, had perished under this Avatar's blade.
It was inconceivable—this Avatar's might far exceeded their expectations.
He could kill Daemon Princes, even Greater Daemons—feats usually requiring an artifact or the Emperor Himself.
This particular Avatar was clearly not normal. Until they gauged the enemy's depths, it was best not to attack rashly.
"You mean to tell me that I, the great Chaos Warmaster Abaddon, should retreat?
I brought you lot to take the False Emperor's head and wreck his plans, and now you tell me to retreat?" The Alien Barbarue, playing Abaddon, roared in fury.
"Great Warmaster, it's only a temporary strategic withdrawal. We're not suited to a head-on clash now. There aren't many mortals or Astartes on this world, while your Black Legion numbers in the hundreds of thousands. If we drag this out, victory will be ours," a Chaos lord said, stepping forward.
What was with the Warmaster today? Normally he wouldn't be like this. And the Warmaster himself had retreated before—often, in fact.
Since the first Black Crusade, our great Warmaster Abaddon had been constantly retreating—for "preserving strength"—rarely going toe-to-toe with the Imperium.
"No! That was then—now it's different. You are all my gene-sons now, no longer Horus's.
He has abandoned us. You will follow me to annihilate these accursed Ultramarines and take this planet," Abaddon shouted in rage.
…And how exactly are those two things related? We never said we weren't your sons!
"Can't you see? Calgar is stalling. They're just a spent arrow. He's waiting for imperial reinforcements—waiting for Guilliman's crusade.
Once Guilliman arrives, we face hundreds of thousands of Imperial Space Marines. Our original-pattern Chaos Astartes cannot match these new-model Marines," Abaddon said from his throne.
At that, some Black Legion champions and lords fell silent.
Indeed. Though they'd seized a trove of transhuman organs at Macragge, the number of new-model Chaos Space Marines actually created was pitiful.
The Black Legion had only about ten thousand of them; other warbands and legions had only a smattering. Over 80% of Chaos Astartes were still original-pattern.
The disparity was obvious. The new Primaris-type Space Marines could casually mow down six or seven original-pattern Chaos Marines, if not more.
If Roboute Guilliman himself arrived, they'd have no chance. Even with equal numbers, they'd lose. The Imperium's mortal super-soldier drugs could even let a mortal burst-kill them.
"Great Dark Warmaster, great gene-father—allow me to lead the charge!" a Black Legion champion knelt on one knee before Abaddon.
"I know this war will be bitter and grueling, but we must take Vigilus and give Guilliman no chance.
All Chaos sorcerers—open Warp rifts for me. Release hordes of daemons," Abaddon ordered.
His master wanted a balanced, prolonged struggle. The Black Legion could not lose too quickly; they must hold out until Guilliman arrived, draw out the master's true target, and even seize a measure of advantage in the meantime.
"To battle! Warriors of the Black Legion! The great gene-father Abaddon watches us!"
"Fight! Fight!" Numerous Astartes rode drop pods down to the surface once more.
In addition, many warp-sorcerers teleported to the ground and hastily began sacrificial rites, opening rift after rift to vomit forth uncountable daemons.
The field plunged back into chaos.
Daemon roars and war-cries split the sky. From the rifts poured warped shapes—bloodthirsty Khorne Bloodletters, Tzeentchian Flamers, Nurgle Plague spirits, and Slaanesh Daemonettes.
They surged at the Imperial line like a tide. Chaos sorcerers' foul arts whipped up psychic storms, corrupt energies twisting reality's fabric.
Yet the Avatar's golden radiance stood like an impassable wall. He raised his flame-wreathed greatsword; wherever the tip pointed, daemons screamed and turned to ash.
The Avatar's mere presence was purifying force. Any Chaotic construct that neared him unraveled and dissipated.
"Hold the line! For the Emperor!" Calgar's voice carried through command channels.
The Ultramarines' formation did not waver; bolter fire wove a shroud of death, shredding charging daemons.
The Battle Sisters' sacred flame burned all profanities to cinders.
The mortal soldiers no longer feared. In the Avatar's glow, their las-bolts carried a faint gold tint, each shot punching through Chaos Astartes armor.
A commissar raised a chainsword and led a countercharge, even driving back a squad of Khorne berserkers.
The fighting was savage in the extreme. With a steady stream of daemons from the Warp, the Chaos host stabilized the situation; both sides fell into a grueling stalemate.
All of Vigilus became a giant meat grinder. At some point, the Avatar had already left the field.
This fight now belonged to Ultramarines, Imperial mortals, and the Chaos horde.
…
In the depths of the Warp, the Blood God's throne quaked, His furious roars tearing the veil between real and unreal.
"Khârn… failed?!"
Khorne's wrath became a deluge of blood. His daemons cowered in corners, not daring to look upon their master's rage.