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Magnus the Red stood at the heart of his sanctum, the air thick with the hum of psychic energy. The walls of the chamber pulsed with runic symbols, their glow casting an eerie light over the scene. His crimson armor shimmered with an otherworldly sheen, and the scepter in his hand crackled with raw etheric power. The very fabric of reality seemed to bend around him, as if the universe itself acknowledged his mastery over the immaterial.
His subordinates watched him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. They had asked a question, and now they awaited his answer. Magnus raised his scepter, and the room erupted in a cascade of light. The power of the Ether surged forth, a manifestation of the Scarlet King's boundless might. To ordinary minds, such power was incomprehensible—a force that defied the laws of nature and reason.
Magnus was no ordinary being. Among the Primarchs, he was unparalleled in his mastery of psychic abilities. Once, his mere psychic communication had shattered the Emperor's webway barrier beneath the Imperial Palace. Now, he wielded that same power with precision and purpose.
With a flick of his will, a runic sphere materialized before him. It shimmered with an iridescent glow, its surface alive with writhing tendrils of light. Slowly, the sphere flattened into a mirror-like surface, revealing a scene from countless light-years away. A corpulent man appeared in the reflection, his jowls quivering as he spoke. Though no sound reached them, Magnus read the man's lips with ease.
The man was bargaining—desperate to prolong his life, willing to make any deal, no matter how vile.
"My brother," Magnus said, his voice dripping with disdain, "believes his chosen guards are incorruptible. But desire is a powerful force. Even the most loyal can be twisted."
He turned to his followers, his single eye gleaming with malice. "This fool has made a pact with the Warp. His blood will serve as the key to unlock the portal to Pharos. Guilliman's void shield is a masterpiece, nearly flawless. But he never anticipated an attack from within."
A cruel smile spread across Magnus's face. "When the alien lighthouse is reduced to rubble, Guilliman will rage and despair. And I will be there to witness it—to crush his pride and revel in his anguish."
The thought filled him with a dark satisfaction. This plan was perfect, a masterpiece of deception and destruction. Guilliman's inevitable fury would be a reward in itself.
"Master," Sharo said, his voice filled with reverence, "your plan is flawless. Guilliman will fall, and the Empire with him."
Magnus chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "Indeed. Let us prepare. When the time comes, we will strike. Guilliman's return changes nothing. The age of the Empire is over."
His gaze shifted to the distant hive city, its spires piercing the smog-filled sky. Already, the city's defenses were mobilizing—silver specks of light streaking toward their position. Guards, armed with primitive weapons, sought to challenge a Primarch.
Magnus sneered. "Pathetic."
He slammed his scepter into the ground, and the earth trembled. A jagged rift tore through the sky above the hive city, spewing forth daemons in a torrent of claws and fangs. The city's defenders were swept aside, their screams swallowed by the cacophony of destruction. Magnus watched with a twisted smile as the hive burned, its people reduced to ash.
"Guilliman," he murmured, his voice a whisper lost in the chaos. "I'm coming for you."
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Meanwhile, in the heart of the Ultramarines' flagship, Roboute Guilliman stood in his strategy room. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and oil, the hum of servitors and cogitators filling the space. He had just signed the orders for a new campaign, his quill scratching against the parchment with deliberate precision.
The Charadon Sector was a tinderbox, and the Orks were the spark threatening to ignite it. Guilliman knew the stakes. If the Orks united under a single WAAAGH!, the consequences would be catastrophic. The galaxy would burn.
"The fleet is ready, my lord," said a nearby officer, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.
Guilliman nodded. "Good. We strike now, before the Orks can rally. The Charadon Sector will be cleansed."
The expeditionary fleet launched from the Steel Globe, its ships cutting through the void like blades. Among them was Foundry General Kelen, a relic of a bygone era. His presence was a calculated move—a show of unity between the Imperium's military and its Mechanicus allies. Kelen had brought his entire arsenal, from Omnissiah-pattern war machines to ancient Mechanicus Arks. Guilliman had little patience for the man's scheming, but for now, he was useful.
The Orks, however, were not so easily cowed. The death of their Warboss had only fueled their bloodlust. Under the command of the Arsonist, a new WAAAGH! was brewing. The greenskins had assembled a formidable force, complete with a massive War Moon that loomed like a harbinger of destruction.
The war was brutal, a grinding conflict that consumed entire star systems. Guilliman's forces advanced with relentless precision, but the Orks fought with a savage ferocity that defied reason. The Argent Skulls, a successor Chapter of the Ultramarines, were among the many warbands deployed to the frontlines.
Aboard the battle barge Macragge's Honour, Chapter Master Corvo stood in the strategy room, his gaze fixed on the holographic projection of the Yelia System. The planet had fallen to the Orks decades ago, its human population enslaved and broken. Now, it was their mission to reclaim it.
"The Orks have left only transport barges in orbit," said the Chief Librarian, his voice calm but edged with concern. "The fleet can handle them easily. It seems they've abandoned the system."
The Chapter's Chaplain shook his head. "The humans there have been corrupted. They've submitted to the Orks. Orbital bombardment is the only way to ensure victory."
The Librarian's eyes flashed with anger. "We cannot abandon them. They are victims, not traitors. The Primarch himself has taught us to protect the innocent."
The Chaplain's voice was cold. "Sentimentality will cost us lives. We must prioritize the mission."
Opal raised a hand, silencing them both. His voice was firm, commanding. "We will not abandon the innocent, nor will we sacrifice our brothers needlessly. There is a balance to be struck. We will find a way to save as many as we can while completing our mission."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them. The holographic projection flickered, casting shadows across their faces. Outside, the void stretched endlessly, a vast and unforgiving expanse.