The embarkation deck of the Macragge's Honour was bustling with life.
The roaring engines, the crew's cries, and the humming of servitors all blended into a single cacophony.
Guilliman stood by his specially made gunship.
Golden and blue Armour of Fate gleamed with a cold sheen beneath the lumen lights.
Before him stood the Victrix Guard, led by Sicarius.
"Until victory is won, I will personally lead the assault."
With the help of the Shining Tiga, the scales of victory in the void war had tilted completely in humanity's favor.
The mission that remained was to eliminate the Tyranids on the ground and bring this war to an end.
The Primarch insisted on personally leading the ground troops for an assault landing on Baal, to accomplish the complete annihilation of the Hive Swarm.
This was both his responsibility and tribute to the sons of angels who had endured so much bloodshed.
Commander Cawken of the Imperial Guard made a last-ditch effort to change his mind.
"Lord, your main duty is to oversee the central command and coordinate the overall situation. Personally charging to the frontlines isn't the most optimal choice for a commander."
"To hide in the shadows of the fleet deck and direct the battle remotely while the warriors of the Imperium bleed below—that is the true shame of a commander," Guilliman replied, his voice not angry, but filled only with unwavering conviction.
"Commander, please stop persuading me. My place is with the soldiers, not the hallowed halls of the High Council."
Realizing persuasion was hopeless, Cawken could only order the Imperial Guard escort unit to protect this reckless Son of the Emperor on the battlefield.
To be honest, Cawken suspected that Lord Roboute Guilliman—a rationalist by reputation—was simply using the battlefield as an excuse to escape political affairs for a bit of relaxation.
Any amphibious assault would mean confrontation with the enemy. Sometimes, even when it's not needed, you have to play your part.
At that moment, someone leapt into the lineup—it was none other than Datch.
In preparation for the coming journey to Baal, his power armor had been repainted in the red and gold colors of the Blood Angels. But the most eye-catching bit was the bizarre and comical helmet perched atop his head:
The helmet's eye slots were wildly enlarged. It boasted a yellow nose. Its mouth, painted in a ridiculous grinning smile stretching to the ears, revealed a row of white teeth.
On his white brow a bold black cross had been painted.
This peculiar outfit and springy gait made Datch stand out all the more amidst the somber atmosphere.
And it wasn't just the paint and helmet—Datch had even pinched the face of Lion El'Jonson.
He was elated, planning to use the Resurrection Coin to bring back the Archangel Sanguinius and take a group photo with Sanguinius, Guilliman, and himself (as a fake Lion King).
He even titled the photo: "The Great Revival of the Second Empire."
Just thinking of it made Datch want to raise his hand at a 45-degree angle and shout, "Hey!"
Guilliman, Cawken, and everyone else turned to stare at Datch.
Their lips moved in sync:
How extravagant is this guy's armory? How does he come up with these things?
If the previous pumpkin-themed power armor wasn't weird enough, this clown helmet took "bizarre" to new heights.
Waltzing past the NPCs, Datch walked straight up to Cawken, over whose head a golden exclamation mark shone.
"Maltover Cawken—anything I can do for you?" Datch asked.
Cawken paused, a bit surprised.
It was actually rare for someone to ask him for a quest.
After a moment's hesitation, Cawken shyly voiced a request designed to excite and move his loyal followers:
"Will the Holy Emperor be dragged from His Golden Throne…?"
"Skip that," Datch interrupted flatly—he didn't want to waste time on pointless chatter. "Do you need anything else?"
Cawken's lips moved again.
After all, the Nameless One wasn't just a wish-granting machine—assigning missions required rules, not just doing whatever anyone wanted.
"Then, could you make sure to look after the Primarch on the battlefield, and see that he's not injured?"
[Task Interface: Mission Activated]
Mission: Protect the Primarch on the battlefield at Baal.
Imperial Defense Officer Cawken requests your assistance in safeguarding Roboute Guilliman during the Battle of Baal.
[Reward: 500 EXP, 500 Points, Reputation +20.]
Seeing the reward, Datch muttered,
"The value of the Thirteenth Prince keeps dropping—barely worth anything now. Still, a little's better than nothing."
"Don't worry," Datch nodded at Cawken. "I'll guard him."
…
When Macragge's Honour entered Baal's orbital path, the order for the final assault was given.
The Primarch's craft, hawk-like, shot from the launch rails ahead of the rest.
Escorted by fighter wings, it blasted down through Baal's polluted atmosphere.
On the ground, the fighting was brutal beyond imagination; bodies piled high, their corpses continuously digested by towering capillary spires.
The Tyranid Hive Ship had been destroyed in orbit, but on the surface monsters still ruled.
Towering Hive Tyrants and monstrous Bio-Titans, instruments of the Hive Mind's will, still dominated the field.
Only by slaughtering these titans could mankind claim a true victory.
Upon entry into the troposphere, swarms of flying insects ugly as stormclouds attacked, and battle commenced immediately.
Their razor-sharp limbs and acidic bodies corroded the gunship's hull.
Rending, teeth-gritting shrieks of metal followed as transport hatches were pried open by gigantic insects.
Howling wind and hissing filled the compartment, the eternally thirsty monsters surging inside to assault the passengers.
Damn it!
Taken by surprise, Datch was slammed to the ground by one of the flying bugs.
Razor-tipped limbs tore through his armor, pinning him fast.
In pain, he instinctively shouted out sideways,
"Help!"
Across the compartment, Guilliman—busy cutting down Tyranid—spotted him and charged across, the Emperor's Sword carving a blazing arc of light, killing both insects pinning Datch in an instant.
Cawken, who had traveled alongside, was left speechless by the sight.
"I asked you to protect the Primarch…and before even landing, the Primarch had to save you?"
How is it that everything is smooth when working for others, but the moment it's for yourself, everything falls apart?
The swarm was vast, but fortunately, the fighter squadron arrived in the nick of time.
High-density lasfire wove a deadly net, blasting the bugs free from the hull and shredding them to bits.
As the gunship engines thundered through the last aerial block, they dove toward their assigned landing zone: Arx Angelicum.
…
Baal Surface: Outside the Angelic Fortress
The ground was a living hell.
The final Imperial defense line had been overrun by swarms.
Chapter Master Dante—the living legend who had fought a thousand years for the Imperium—led the last desperate counterattack with his surviving guardians.
Not for victory, but to perish alongside the Hive Tyrant and the node creatures, to try and break the synaptic control of the hive mind, and buy the Imperium more time.
Dante's power axe swung tirelessly; every blow fueled by exhaustion and determination built up over a millennium.
The Sanguinary Guard fought at his side, crying the name of Sanguinius without fear.
At last, Dante confronted the Hive Tyrant, a monster of hide and bone.
A brutal duel followed, axes and bone-blades clashing.
Arcs of disruptive force clashed with the glow of bio-fields, sending out shockwaves.
Dante's power armor was depleted, his strength exhausted—but in a final suicidal attack, he drove his axe deep into the beast's brain.
The Tyrant crashed down; Dante too fell to one knee, his battered armor cracked in multiple places.
Life ebbed from him with his blood.
His vision blurred; he could hear the hissing swarm drawing near.
He drew one last breath—his lungs burning with Tyrant's venom.
Death approached.
Dante, utterly spent, awaited the end in silence.
His 1,500 years of service had come to a close.
He had saved countless lives and stopped endless tides of evil.
He could face his end with clear conscience.
At that moment, thunderous fire tore down from the sky.
Concentrated gunfire scythed the remaining Tyranid like divine retribution.
A massive aircraft hovered, cannons blazing at the swarms below.
From a shattered hatch, a giant in golden and blue armor leaped down, soon followed by the Emperor's golden-armored guard.
And behind them, a strangely painted Blood Angel armored in a helmet with a leering, goofy grin.
As Dante saw them approach, his world faded entirely to darkness.
But in that darkness, a thread of gentle light appeared.
He saw a tall warrior with white wings spreading behind him, walking slowly toward him, his body radiating peaceful warmth.
It was Sanguinor, Archangel and Patron Spirit of all the Angels.
Had this been months ago, after the catastrophe of Baal System, Dante might have been wracked with guilt and shame in this moment.
But now, as Baal's last drop of blood spilled, peace alone filled him.
My mission ended with death. My duty is fulfilled… now is my rest.
Sanguinor said nothing, simply stepping aside gracefully and indicating an even more exalted presence behind him.
Dante caught his breath.
He saw it.
Wings of pure white, hair of golden brilliance brighter than the stars, a face filled with mercy and majesty—
It was Sanguinius, gene-father and source of all Angels' sacrifice and meaning through the past ten millennia.
The Archangel parted his lips to speak:
"My son, I am the greatest, the most—"
Before the words could finish!
An irresistible, tyrannical, and unseen force hooked Dante's soul like the most savage of claws.
Mercilessly, it tore him from the warm, peaceful illusion of death!
"No—!!!"
In silence yet with a heart-splitting scream, Dante futilely watched the figures of Sanguinius and Sanguinor fade as consciousness was dragged back.
With the fading light, it all dissolved, blurred, and disappeared.
Within the vision, both Saints were clearly shocked.
Their faces were a mix of surprise and confusion.
Sanguinius kept reaching out as if searching.
Where is my child?
The patient, well-mannered son I'd waited so long to talk to?
Why, at the moment of reunion, were we pulled apart?
Even if one must work overtime, can't a father have a moment to comfort his son?
…
Baal's Surface, Outside Arx Angelicum
Dante suddenly opened his eyes and sat up.
No ripping pain, no soul-crushing exhaustion; his battered armor gleamed as if new, his wounds all mysteriously healed.
He realized he was lying on the ground, and above him the worried face of Lord Guilliman peered down.
Not far away, a bizarre warrior with a grinning helmet stood holding a golden hammer.
With a clang, he struck the caved-in chest of a Sanguinary Guard whose body had clearly been beyond saving.
A miracle occurred.
The ruined body seemed to rewind—his crushed chest lifted, his pale face regained its flush.
Before Datch's gaze, the Sanguinary Guard suddenly sat up, gasped, and dumbfoundedly felt his perfectly healed body.
Dante immediately understood—he too had been healed in some miraculous way by this strange warrior.
…
With the arrival of the Indomitus Crusade, the long age of darkness over Baal System was swept away.
The Tyranid Hive Ship was destroyed.
The ground war saw the death of the Hive Tyrant and all major bio-weapons.
The will of the Hive Mind was shattered—the remaining Tyranid organisms became wild beasts, massacred by Imperial forces until extinct.
Khorne's Greater Daemon, Ka'Bandha, and his horde, invaded Baal, but—
Weakened by the hope brought by the Shining Tiga, he was banished to the warp by fleet fire when the Imperial armada entered Basilisk's orbit.
After the crisis, Guilliman revealed his plan to Dante:
He would use the technical arts of the Primaris Space Marines to rebuild the shattered chapters of Blood Angels, restoring them to full strength.
After weighing the pros and cons, Dante agreed.
In the ruined halls of Arx Angelicum, he summoned all surviving sub-chapter representatives.
"All our chapters shall be reborn," Dante addressed the crowd. His voice was tired, but his resolve undeniable.
"Lord Guilliman has saved the Imperium and brought new armies to Baal."
These are angelic descendants with more stable gene-seeds—a brand new generation, developed from improved seeds by the great sage Belisarius Cawl.
"The new Primaris warriors will not suffer from the Black Rage or the Bloodthirst. Our curse will finally become a thing of the past."
At this, the hall's atmosphere shifted sharply.
A ripple of approval, sighs of relief, but also a deep sense of shocked confusion.
Suddenly, a harsh, grating sound shattered all noise—a voice boomed:
"I don't agree."
Gabriel Seth, Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers, strode forward.
His armor was scored with claw marks and blood, but in his eyes burned firm, unwavering purpose.
"My view of the Primaris is exactly contrary to yours," he glared at Dante, voice ringing out.
"I believe this is nothing less than the deliberate corruption and subversion of the gene-father Sanguinius and the Emperor's great work!"
"Gabriel! How dare you say such things!" Dante's shout was mixed with shock.
"The Black Rage and Bloodthirst are gifts from Sanguinius, his final legacy to his descendants!"
Seth roared, his words striking the hearts of every Angel present.
"From the moment we became angels' sons, we have fought this battle.
This endless struggle defines us.
If we lose it, are we still sons of angels, or simply a group of extreme warriors in red armor?"
"Gabriel!" Dante's voice trembled with severity.
"I'm telling the truth!" Seth snapped back.
"It was Guilliman who split the Astartes and divided us!
Now, he destroys that law with his own hands—raising a new Astartes legion as massive as a whole legion.
And now, he seeks to replace us with so-called new recruits—what is his real aim?"
All eyes became complicated and subtle—within the bloodsoaked atmosphere, seeds of doubt began to grow quietly.
Seth had voiced the unspoken taboo in everyone's heart with all his might:
"If you are already the Regent…why can't you be the Second Emperor?"
"Silence!" Dante's bellow echoed, kicking up dust.
"The Black Rage and Bloodthirst are not gifts—they are a curse, the torment the Archangel always hoped we would be rid of!"
"You lie!" Seth shook his fist skyward as if swearing before the ancient sages.
"Lord Nassir Amit, first master of the Flesh Tearers, left us this doctrine:
'The Black Rage and the Bloodthirst are trials—gifts—from the Angel-father!
Only by struggling against them do we prove ourselves his sons.
Would you overturn Amit's teaching, forged in blood and sacrifice, using perhaps tampered doctrine from Angel Keep?'"
"Don't twist the Archangel's true intent!" Dante felt powerless.
"Words can lie, and history can be rewritten!"
Seth's eyes were bloodshot—was it dying thirst, or pure fury?
"If you claim Amit's doctrine is wrong, and that we must be replaced by Guilliman's warriors—then let the Archangel Sanguinius himself come to tell us!
Otherwise, the Flesh Tearers will never accept it!"
The standoff between group leaders silenced all.
Ideological clashes cut deeper than blades.
Nobody could convince the other.
The hall fell to deathly silence. Only the quiet servo-whirr of power armor, and distant sounds of repair work, broke the hush.
Meanwhile, in a relatively quiet side hall, Datch was happily tallying his mission rewards.
["Safely escort Orpheo's party and precious gene-seed back to Baal. Mission: Complete.]
[Rewards: 1,000 EXP, 1,000 points, 150 fame, 1x Flame Gauntlets."]
Datch now hefted a blue flamer inscribed with mysterious runes. Weighing it in his hands, he felt deeply satisfied.
Those who are disloyal to humanity, burn them! Those who betray the human race, burn them! Those who fall for demons, burn them!
Datch stashed the flamer and checked the next mission.
Support Guilliman and the Indomitus Crusade to victory in the Baal System.
This, too, was now marked complete.
[Reward: +2,000 EXP, +2,000 points, +300 fame, 1x Homecoming Devotional Robot.]
Sure enough, a modest and slightly cute, treaded robot appeared at his feet after a moment's thought.
After examining it, Datch packed it up—something to put on Macragge's Honour and see who gets unlucky first.
The final task was Cawken's order:
Ensure Guilliman's safety during the ground battle on Baal.
Basically a freebie:
He received 500 EXP, 500 points, and 20 reputation.
After confirming all the tasks and rewards, Datch noticed his minimap had updated with a new assignment.
He set off following the guidance, with the guards trailing behind to make sure no misunderstandings with the Angelic sons led to trouble.
Through shattered corridors and halls, he arrived at the medbay.
Inside lay two: the young Astropath Gino and Supervisor Jaylen Litt, both recently evacuated from the Baal Astronomican relay station and under treatment.
Datch approached the shy Gino, glanced at his info panel, and spoke directly:
"Astropath Gino, what do you wish for?"
"M-me?" Gino froze, staring dazedly at the strange helmeted Astartes before him.
Turning, he looked at Supervisor Litt and the guard behind him.
"Speak freely," the accompanying guard said in a low voice,
"Nameless One may grant your wish. It's an honor."
"Gino, why don't you try telling him your hope? Maybe he could arrange transport for your leave," Supervisor Litt encouraged.
Gino took a deep breath, steeling himself.
In his eyes, besides his years, there shone the longing suppressed by war and duty.
Quietly, he spoke:
"I was born in a small town on Baal, and have never seen the real sea or desert.
I… want to see the real ocean…and the endless green grassland written in books, with my own eyes—not in a hologram, but for real."
As soon as he finished, a mission prompt appeared before Datch.
[Mission: Fulfill Astropath Gino's Wish]
Gino, whose life began in the desert, wishes above all to one day see the sea and the grasslands with his own eyes. Please help him.
[Rewards: 1,300 EXP, 1,300 points, +500 fame, x1 Personalized Seasoning Powder.]