The Creators: From Night City

Page 535

Guilliman finally managed a slight smile.

Although it's somewhat shameful, Guilliman would still agree to use Mortalian's remaining power to perform reverse psionic curses even if given ten more chances.

War is not a dinner party; it doesn't respect kindness and courtesy. War is ruthless and a fight to the death.

“It’s time to end this unjust war,” the Primarch said wearily.

“Summon the Honor Guard, Calgar. I will personally lead them in this ‘decapitation strike’.”

Chapter 1084 All-in is a form of wisdom

When it comes to curses, most people's first impression is that they are insidious, vile, despicable, shameless, and treacherous.

However, the discipline of curses is profound and complex, involving serious and advanced magical techniques.

Rasmar is a master at using curses, and he uses them in a particularly stylish way.

He extracted a trace of Mortarian's aura from Sergeant Thor Erikson, and with this aura, he had many ways to carry out his plans.

A human skull that perfectly matched the Empire's aesthetic was eventually handed over to Guilliman.

Emerald green soulfire burned in the skull's eye sockets, constantly pointing towards Mortalian's location.

“Smash it, if necessary,” Rasma said.

"As long as the distance is close enough, the curse residing in the skull will automatically take effect."

Guilliman personally packed the skull away and went into the hangar.

The decapitation strike was not a sneak attack, or even just a sneak attack. The decapitation strike in the Guilliman Plan was a general offensive launched by the Combined Fleet, the clarion call of the decisive battle, and a crucial factor in determining the final outcome.

Accompanying this decapitation operation was a general offensive launched by the entire combined fleet, a full-scale attack with no room for retreat.

On the hangar deck, Guilliman stood on a high platform, delivering his pre-battle speech.

The golden armor shone brilliantly under the light of the distant stars, making the Primarch appear like a golden giant.

Bathed in the starlight, he carefully observed the neatly lined-up soldiers below.

At the forefront were the Honor Guard members who would accompany him. They were the most elite soldiers in the Ultramarines, and at this moment they were armed to the point of being blindfolded.

The Centurion-class specialized tactical armor is equipped with a multi-layered "Iron Aura" defense system, including a refraction field, a repulsion shield, a mental barrier, and a main energy field generator. It also features a plasma incineration cannon, a heavy explosive shotgun, a "Star Dart" type assault cannon, a sacred type power gauntlet, a precision-engineered power sword, and a wind-force field shield.

Accompanying them were nearly half of the heavy Terminator armor, fully equipped with shoulder weapon platforms and arm-mounted weapons.

Of course, no amount of equipment was as effective as Robert Guilliman's presence; his mere presence was more inspiring and morale-boosting than any company relic.

Behind them were several companies of tactical finishers, who, as support troops, were ready to join the battle at any time and unleash their fury amidst the enemy's encirclement.

Following them are the Astronauts, Mechanicus, and Battle Sisters, who will serve as the main reserve force to launch a general offensive against the enemy flagship while Guilliman and Mortalian are locked in combat.

On the flanks of the formation stood a handful of people, including the main commanders of the Imperial Navy of the Combined Fleet, the Great Sage Caul, high-ranking officials of the State Religion, and special envoys of the Imperial Inquisition.

"Warriors! People of the Empire!" Guilliman's voice wasn't loud, but it resonated in everyone's ears.

At the same time, his voice resounded through communications and broadcasts to the ears of all soldiers, pilots, slave laborers, and starship crews throughout the Combined Fleet.

He gazed at all the soldiers in the hangar with compassionate eyes; his powerful personal charisma made him seem to glow, attracting everyone's attention like a magnet.

“Look at Alarius not far away, the planet beneath your feet, where a plague has ravaged the land, and hundreds of millions of people have died in agony in the past few weeks. To this day, death continues.”

Guilliman didn't shout or make grand pronouncements, but even with his simple statements, the 'gentle' law he embodied resonated with everyone.

"In the past few months, hundreds of worlds in the Extreme Starfield have been ravaged by the Plague Fleet, and billions of people have been slaughtered, trampled, humiliated, and died in agony."

"For thousands of years, the human empire has been bleeding constantly, torn apart by chaos, devoured by heretics, and coveted by all enemies full of malice."

Guilliman stepped to the side, revealing the observation window behind him and the chaotic battlefield reflected in the window, the massive plague fleet.

"Not far away, that monster who calls himself the 'Lord of Death,' my former...brother, hides deep within the plague and disease, threatening us with death, trying to make us submit; he thinks that with endless plague, with mutated flesh, with cruel desecration of what we love, he can corrupt our will; he thinks that fear will make us forget who we are."

Guilliman's voice gradually became more impassioned.

"Then he is very wrong!"

"This world is full of despair. Chaos, Tyranids, Necromancers, Orks, Dark Eldar—too many dangers fill the human empire. The galaxy is constantly surrounded by war."

"But that's precisely why hope is so precious."

“We stand here not because of orders, but because of choices. We choose to follow the Emperor’s glory because we want to save this empire and the human race trapped in the cold galaxy with him. We choose to raise the battle flag in despair because every eagle flag is a roar of humanity against these heretics and evil spirits, and the foundation for survival that countless sacrifices have built for the human race with their lives.”

"In the fortieth millennium, in this dark galaxy, war, slaughter, and death constantly threaten the Empire, trying every means to take away our right to live. All we need to do, all we can do, and all we are doing is to take up our guns and raise our swords to resist, to fight, and to struggle!"

"Follow me! Warriors, not only your Primarchs, your Commanders—but also the fury within you that will never bow to the darkness! Follow the unwavering loyalty sworn in your oath!"

"Let our charge be thunder echoing through the warp! Let our roar be the death knell piercing the enemies of the Empire! For our fallen brothers! For the ravaged world! For humanity itself!!!"

Guilliman drew the Emperor's Sword from his waist and raised it high, its golden light surging forth like a magnificent banner.

"In the name of the Emperor—!"

"In the name of Ottara and the five hundred worlds—!"

"Today, we are not only fighting for victory!"

"We are also fighting for the survival of the human race!"

"Now, follow me! Let's end this vile plague!"

Guilliman's final words transformed into a battle cry that shook the heavens and the earth, which then merged with the roars bursting from countless throats, converging in the hangar and on all communication channels into a sharp sword that could tear through the veil of chaos placed upon the Empire, soaring straight into the sky.

'Magnum's Glory' took the lead, charging ahead against the Plague Fleet's barrage of fire.

The high-spirited combined fleet followed behind its flagship, transforming into a steel torrent that plunged straight into the heart of the Plague Fleet.

Minimum safe distance, maneuvering and warning space, tactical entry angle—all of these were thrown aside. At this moment, there was only the roar of overloaded engines, only a frenzied surge forward, only a fearless charge.

On this brutal gambling table, after several rounds of probing, Guilliman went all in.

Chapter 1085 Boarding Over and the Unstoppable Advance

"Blade of Triumph"

The Pride of Macurag's original-class assault boats.

This is a super assault boat that exists only on the Primarch's flagship and is designed specifically for the Primarch and its most elite Honor Guard.

It has a cool and sacred appearance, resembling a huge "powered longsword", several times larger than a standard airdrop pod, and is equipped with an "anti-subspace force field generator" and a very precious small void shield.

But no matter how fancy its appearance or how powerful its configuration, it still cannot change the fact that it is an assault pod.

As the 'Radiance of Macragge' charged forward under fierce firepower to the vicinity of the 'Terminator' where Mortalian was located, this living, festering, proliferating, and mucus-secreting behemoth suddenly sprouted two thick tentacles from its two sides of the deck, which swiftly attached themselves to the deck of the 'Radiance of Macragge'.

Before the tentacles, covered in huge boils, pustules, and festering wounds, could exert any force, a sudden explosion came from one of the torpedo launchers of the 'Magnificent Makura'.

Like a vortex torpedo launched from its barrel, the 'Triumph Blade', propelled by the raging plasma at its tail, smashed through the countless fly-like monsters surrounding the ship and plunged headlong into the living vessel.

The sacred boarding battle has officially begun.

Dozens of Plague Warriors rushed to the boarding site, but were met with an Emperor's Sword burning with an inextinguishable psionic flame.

These Chaos Space Marines, blessed by Nurgle and able to fight even with severed limbs and mutilated bodies, couldn't even last a single blow against Guilliman.

After being ascended and reforged, the Primarch's combat power in the mortal world can be described as godlike.

The thick metal walls were covered with a layer of coral formed from calcified bones, and the walls, which could withstand molten metal weapons, were smashed through by Guilliman.

Few people know that this Primarch, known for his rationality and civility, is actually a 'berserker' who is prone to losing his temper.

Several bloated, disease-carrying creatures staggered toward the intruders. Their bodies were filled with unstable pus, and upon approaching the enemy, they would commit a terrifying self-destruction, spreading their unclean, filthy power.

Unfortunately, before they could even finish their self-destruct cast, Guilliman sliced ​​them all into pieces like a fruit ninja.

The flames burning on the Emperor's Sword simultaneously destroyed all their defenses.

The Plaguebringer, the Master of Wither, commands an endless swarm of Nurgle spirits and Plague Flies, pouring into this place from every passage and crevice.

But Guilliman was not fighting alone.

The members of the Honor Guard stood closely around Guilliman, protecting his flanks.

Endless demons surged to the front lines, colliding with the orderly ranks of the Honor Guard members.

The wind-force field shield formed a wall of steel, while the surging explosive firepower was like a barrage of arrows, covering everything in front of the position and killing the enemy.

Dark green evil psionic energy shot out from behind Nurgle, but was blocked by the force field of the Iron Halo.

As the primary firepower projector, the Terminator didn't need to communicate; the instant the enemy's psionic attack erupted, it immediately turned its guns on the Plague Wizard's location and razed it to the ground with its ferocious firepower.

Like the sharpest dagger, the decapitation squad raced wildly inside the warship.

With a single slash, Guilliman sliced ​​a pustule lord resembling a Dreadnought in two. Another pustule lord's twin plague spray was blocked by the shield on his armor, and the Primarch followed up with a strike that cut the opponent right through.

Guilliman retrieved the cursed skull, and Rasmar's cursed power guided him on the right path.

Instead of taking a detour, the activated walls, though they might suddenly extend tentacles to try and entangle the intruders, are inevitably destined to be demolished by the brute force of the Primarch.

Blood flowed freely, and Ultra Warriors fell one after another, but even more demons were annihilated along with them. They killed anyone who stood in their way, and they smashed through walls and melted down decks.

He forged a path through mountains and built bridges over rivers, not wanting to take any detours. He carved a straight road through the interior of the decaying behemoth, heading directly towards Mortalian's location.

Finally, when the decapitation squad was forcibly stopped by the Terminator in the death shroud for the first time, Guilliman realized that his goal was within reach.

The Death Shroud Terminators are a team similar to the veterans of the Ultramarines' First Company. They are Mortal's most elite guards, clad in heavy, plague-rune-covered Corrupted Terminator armor, wielding twin plague spray guns or power scythes, following in the footsteps of the Primarch.

They are living plague fortresses, each one a Chapter Champion.

Similarly, the Honor Guard will simply linger around their Primarch, protecting their safety.

The honor guard's swordsmanship champions immediately stepped forward and engaged these equal adversaries.

The beacon was activated, and a large number of Terminator armored vehicles were teleported in, creating a temporary defensive position to block enemy reinforcements from various parts of the ship and providing a safe environment for the upcoming decapitation strike.

Guilliman did not linger there. At this point, even without the head in his hand, his keen senses could perceive the presence that was so close at hand.

He refused the Honor Guard members' request to follow him. The upcoming battle was between the Primarch, his brothers, and the demigods. These were excellent, but still weak offspring who were simply unable to participate.

The thick hatch, inlaid with countless tentacles, was kicked away by Guilliman's powerful foot, exposing the ship's most crucial "Rotten Throne" to Guilliman.

Pale golden spiritual energy enveloped the body of this divine child, causing the surrounding thick white fog to involuntarily dissipate as his feet landed.

A thick, slippery carpet of fungal tissue covered the floor, oozing foul-smelling pus whenever Guilliman's footsteps landed. Huge, deformed blood vessels and lymphatic vessels throbbed throughout the walls and ceiling, as if pumping some kind of evil substance.

The air was thick, humid, and filled with the sweet smell of decay, the stench of feces, and the pungent odor of chemical reagents.

The pale white mist seemed to possess a physical form, filling the entire space, ethereal and unpredictable, stretching out its body like a ghost.

Apart from that, the vast space was completely empty.

Guilliman walked forward unhurriedly, his tall figure radiating an inexplicable calm magnetic field.

The Emperor's Sword burned fiercely, scorching away the evil flesh and blood tissue within several meters around it.

In the quiet, somewhat suffocating chamber, the flames in the skull's eye sockets suddenly flickered.

With a calm and composed expression, Guilliman instantly raised his sword and parried a long scythe that emerged from the cold white mist.

The violent collision of psionic energy caused the white mist to surge instantly, and a tall figure took the opportunity to disappear into it, revealing only a corner of a decaying wing.

"Come out and face me, Mortarian. You have abandoned your honor, and have you lost your courage as well?"

Guilliman drew his sword and shouted insults.

Chapter 1086 The End is Coming

"Clang!"

A slash emerged from the mist and clashed with the Emperor's sword, producing a sound like thunder.

Ethereal and treacherous, ruthless and renowned, vicious and cruel, insidious and cunning.

No matter how much Guilliman clamored, Mortarian remained hidden in the fog, appearing and disappearing like a ghost.

Until that skull was crushed by the ruling hand.

An ominous dark light, like a miniature, living dragon, emerged from the skull fragments and rose into the air.

Like cruise missiles locked onto their targets, they ignored the obscuring white fog and shot straight into nothingness.

The next moment, a weak, muffled groan, barely suppressed, rang out from not far away.

The soft, sagging deck was stomped on with tremendous force, causing it to ooze liquid. Guilliman's swordsmanship was simple, direct, and efficient.