In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.
At the end of the 41st Millennium, the Thirteenth Black Crusade—led by Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos and Lord of the Black Legion—achieved what twelve previous crusades had prepared for.
Cadia fell.
The pylons that had restrained the Eye of Terror shattered.
The Cicatrix Maledictum tore across the galaxy like a bleeding wound in reality itself, splitting the Imperium in two. Warp storms engulfed entire sectors. Astropathic communication failed. Half the Imperium was plunged into isolation and darkness.
Daemons walked openly.
Traitor Legions surged from the Eye.
Xenos empires pressed their advantage.
Humanity stood closer to extinction than at any time since the Age of Strife.
And yet—
A counterstroke was coming.
Macragge — The Fortress of Hera
Belisarius Cawl, Archmagos Dominus of Mars, arrived at the Fortress of Hera on Macragge under the authority of a ten-thousand-year-old contingency.
He claimed he could resurrect Roboute Guilliman.
Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, almost staggered under the weight of the statement. Shock. Hope. Suspicion.
Guilliman had lain entombed in stasis since Fulgrim's poisoned blade had struck him down.
Now this Martian claimed he could restore him.
Then Yvraine of the Ynnari spoke.
Guilliman would have to die.
Again.
Only through death could Ynnead's power be invoked to draw his soul back fully from the edge.
Bolters rose instantly.
Calgar's gauntlet weapons locked on target.
Greyfax's condemnor boltgun shifted toward the Eldar.
The Grey Knights present said nothing—but their silence was not reassuring.
It sounded insane.
Unplugging life support to cure a patient.
Yet Chief Librarian Tigurius had foreseen a turning point.
Celestine felt the Emperor's light burning brighter around this moment.
The stalemate lasted seconds—
Then the sky broke.
The Black Legion Assault
A Thunderhawk gunship, already aflame, smashed through the upper structure of the chamber.
Black Legion Raptors burst from the wreckage, jump packs screaming.
They were not here to delay.
They were here to finish what Fulgrim had begun.
Teleport beacons activated—corrupted, daemon-tainted.
Reality screamed.
Chaos Terminators in baroque black armor manifested in crackling warp-light.
Storm bolters roared.
Chainfists shrieked.
Calgar charged, power fists blazing.
Greyfax invoked her seals of binding.
Celestine rose in golden flame.
The Grey Knights formed a silver wall against the daemonic tide.
Amidst the carnage, Cawl activated the Armour of Fate.
Yvraine raised the Cronesword.
"No!" Calgar roared—
But the blade fell.
The life-sustaining cables severed.
The chamber fell silent.
Then the slaughter intensified.
Khornate berserkers tore into Ultramarines.
Warp sorcery detonated in arcs of violet fire.
The Black Legion pressed hard.
The ritual had to succeed—or Guilliman would die permanently.
Tigurius faltered mid-incantation.
Something else was coming.
Something immense.
Not Chaos.
Not Imperial.
Something older.
The Impact
A blazing mass tore through the upper vault and struck the battlefield's center.
The shockwave hurled Chaos Terminators aside like broken statues.
For a heartbeat, sound ceased.
Time seemed to fracture.
Dust cleared.
A figure stood there.
Yuki.
Her memory still lingered in the Immaterium—the moment she had been hurled through light.
This was not Terra.
This was not 30K.
The air reeked of Chaos.
Her expression hardened.
She moved.
She did not draw a blade.
She ran.
Where she passed, Chaos warriors disintegrated.
Armor imploded.
Daemon-possessed flesh ruptured.
The stone floor cratered beneath her stride.
Bolt shells struck and flattened against her form without slowing her.
She was a meteor given purpose.
Greyfax stared.
Celestine narrowed her eyes.
This was not the Emperor's familiar blessing.
This was something else.
Guilliman Awakens
Behind the storm of violence, the Armour of Fate sealed.
Vital signs stabilized.
The display runes shifted from crimson to emerald.
Roboute Guilliman inhaled.
He rose.
The Emperor's Sword ignited in pale flame.
For a moment, confusion flickered across his face—memory locked at the moment of Fulgrim's strike.
Then he saw the Black Legion.
That was enough.
He entered the fray.
Dominion's Hand crushed ceramite.
The Emperor's Sword burned through warp-tainted flesh.
Even Terminators fell in seconds.
Between Guilliman and Yuki, the Black Legion assault collapsed.
Within minutes, it was annihilation.
The surviving Chaos forces attempted withdrawal.
They failed.
Victory belonged to the Imperium.
For now.
The Aftermath
Silence returned.
Ultramarines re-formed ranks automatically, weapons still raised.
They stared at the winged figure.
Objectively—without insult to their gene-father—her combat display had rivaled, perhaps exceeded, Guilliman's own.
Celestine descended.
Greyfax did not lower her weapon.
Guilliman stepped forward.
He studied Yuki carefully.
He felt it.
That resonance.
That impossible, unmistakable signature.
Primarch.
Yet she was not one he remembered.
Her face reminded him faintly of Fulgrim—before corruption.
Her bearing reminded him of Sanguinius.
Her presence felt like something that should have existed in a time that no longer did.
"You are a Primarch," Guilliman said calmly. "But I do not recall you. Who are you?"
Every Ultramarine present froze.
Yuki slowly removed her swords and tossed them aside.
She raised her hands openly.
"Yuki. War Marshal of the Unification Wars. Primarch Zero. Deputy to the Emperor. I come from the early Great Crusade."
Half the chamber nearly fainted.
Deputy to the Emperor?
Guilliman ignored the reactions.
"What date?"
"Terra not yet unified. The Great Crusade freshly drafted."
Guilliman exhaled slowly.
"So you were lost in the warp… and arrived ten thousand years later."
"Yes."
"Your vessel?"
"I had none."
"…You traversed the Immaterium physically?"
"Yes."
Guilliman blinked.
"…How?"
"Chaos Gods caught me."
Pause.
"…And?"
"I burned them. They threw me out. I saw light and swam toward it."
Guilliman stared at her.
Every instinct told him she was not lying.
Every rational faculty screamed that what she said was impossible.
He rubbed his temple.
Of course.
He awakens after ten thousand years to find:
The Imperium split in half.
Chaos triumphant.
And a previously unknown Primarch who claims to have swum through the Warp.
Guilliman lowered his hand slowly.
"What an astonishing individual you are."
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