On Veilwalker's advice, the Pilgrim Crusade surged through the Webway with lightning speed. The engines of their vehicles screamed under overload, and the rapid movements of their machines made the web itself tremble. The pilgrims rushed forward, but Magnus' minions had already pinpointed their location.
"Let's ambush them in the crystal caves—they won't escape!"
When the vanguard armored units of the pilgrimage force burst into the cavern, they were met with a torrent of gunfire, caught completely off-guard. Bombs wreathed in sorcerous flames rained down like a storm, catching the pilgrims by surprise. Several Psyker troop carriers at the edge of the line were consumed by fire, the unfortunate pilgrims inside dying in the explosions before they could even react.
Guardians and Tech-Priests struck by warp-charged energy bombs screamed as they mutated—flesh and blood swelling, bones twisting, metal implants fusing bizarrely with organic tissue. In moments, their minds snapped, and they became ravenous monsters.
"Enemy attack! Flank defenders, move!"
"Knights, suppress enemy fire at 3 o'clock, fire on the platform!"
"All units, scatter! Use cover for the counterattack, don't bunch up!"
Roboute Guilliman bellowed orders, mind racing desperately to salvage the situation. The pilgrims, though panicked, followed commands, splitting up and returning fire. Bolters, high explosives, and lascannons formed a deadly barrage, striking back against the enemy.
Out of the mists in the caves, red-armored warriors in gold and blue appeared, one after another. These soulless battle puppets, souls sealed within armor, advanced with mechanical precision, firing relentlessly as they closed the net.
Their movements were slow but unyielding; their firepower was overwhelming, and they knew no fear of death. Hordes of beastmen followed, howling and attacking primitively alongside the Scarlet Warriors. Daemons surged forward in waves, each one grotesque, as if spawned from the darkest nightmares. The stench they emitted was so intense that the pilgrims' respirators and helmets were rendered useless.
Guilliman roared at the enemy, his every swing of the Emperor's Sword unleashing waves of brilliant white flame. Traitors and daemons touched by its holy fire became torches of agony.
As Grand Marshal, Amalrich charged through hails of bullets, cutting down every foe in his path, his kill count steadily mounting. Grand Master Voldus roared repeatedly, brandishing his power hammer crackling with energy, smashing Bloodletters to the ground, metal shards flashing.
Yet, however fiercely the pilgrims fought, they could not break free. The enemy was too numerous, their attacks relentless. Pilgrim casualties mounted by the minute. The side armor of the Land Marauder was shredded by daemon claws. The turret of the Leman Russ tank warped under sorcerous energy, spitting erratic fire. The tall frames of Knight mechs were riddled with shocking wounds and holes.
Greyfax used her psionic powers to crush the skulls of the strongest beastmen, then slipped behind Guilliman.
"Regent, we're outnumbered severalfold. If we don't break through soon, the entire army could be wiped out. We need to leave a rear guard to buy time for the rest to retreat."
"Let's go."
Garrein, the Emperor's Champion, stood up with his black sword. There was no fear of death on his face, only resolve.
"The wheel of fate… In the end, we're back on track."
Veilwalker overheard and sighed silently in her heart. The fate of the Imperial Champion was supposed to end on the ice moon Klaisus, but the intervention of a mysterious, nameless figure had altered everything. In the end, he could not escape his doom.
Guilliman hesitated only briefly before agreeing to give the order to break through.
But…
"For the Emperor! For Terra!"
The Imperial troops shouted and charged into the fray, attacking the enemy's lines from the flank, sowing chaos. At their head was Datch, chainsword buzzing as he cut through daemons and traitors, repairing broken vehicles with his golden hammer as he went.
BANG! BANG!
The sharp sound rang out again and again as the ruined tanks and mechs were restored, roaring back to the battlefield.
"Thanks be to the Omnissiah, praise to the Primordial Power!"
Oud Oudia Raskian, Fabricator-General, shouted in binary. He followed Datch's lead, unleashing with his shoulder-incinerator and assorted back-mounted weapons, incinerating the enemy to ashes.
Custodian Navradaran and his Imperial Guard joined the fray, their power spears under arc shields felling powerful daemons and Scarlet Warriors with each thrust. Their movements were simple, efficient, yet graced with a unique chilling elegance.
Inquisitor Erasmus Crowl and Luce Spinoza led stormtroopers and Death Cult assassins, providing fire support from high ground and sniping priority targets.
"The Nameless One…"
Seeing Datch appear, Guilliman felt a sudden surge of relief. Not only had he rushed back at this crucial moment, but he had also brought Imperial forces with him. How Datch had achieved this was simply unimaginable.
With the support of Datch and his allies, the enemy's offensive was disrupted, unable to form a proper line of fire. The pilgrims seized the opportunity to counterattack, regaining the initiative on the battlefield.
But this shift also drew the enemy's attention.
A grotesque Thousand Sons sorcerer, atop a flying disk, directed a sorcerous blast at Datch, shouting:
"You cannot defy the Changer of Ways! Servants of the Corpse-Emperor, meet your end!"
Datch used his thrusters to evade the attack. Remembering something he'd read about the Thousand Sons online, his mischievous side emerged. Taking advantage of the opening, he scooped a handful of ash from the ground. Taking distance, he spread his arms and blew lightly towards the Thousand Sons sorcerer.
For a moment, dust swirled in the air. The sorcerer looked on, confused, and asked with a sneer:
"Foolish worshipper of the Corpse-Emperor, what's wrong? Are you scared? Or just stupid?"
Datch removed his helmet, revealing his sunglasses and a cocky grin.
"Hey, isn't this just a statue of ash left from burning Prospero?"
Time seemed to slow, the world freezing. The Thousand Sons sorcerer's chanting faltered, the fire at the tip of his staff flickering. Datch knelt, picked up another handful of ashes, and blew them again.
"Look at your brother—just like Prospero, reduced to ashes."
The sorcerer trembled with rage and let out a furious roar, charging at Datch with murderous intent.
"I'll kill you and make your soul suffer for eternity!"
Datch fired up his chainsword and jetpack, rushing forward unflinchingly, taunting with unmatched bravado:
"Come on! Hurry up! Is that all? Is that it?"
…
Bonus chapter at 100 PS
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