Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 409 Imperial Crisis
After Chen Xi finally dealt with the Imperial Fist and the Holy Blood Angel, his tense nerves relaxed slightly, and he let out a heavy sigh.

This brief respite brought little relief, but it allowed him to grasp a tiny, sliver of hope for the future amidst the suffocating abyss of despair within the empire.

Indeed, according to the official GW storyline, after the tragic fall of the world of Cardia Fortress and the devastating defeat of the Empire, Belisarius Caul—the great sage burdened with a ten-thousand-year responsibility—will embark on a perilous journey to Macragge, carrying the "Armor of Destiny" that he secretly forged over ten thousand years.

Ultimately, with the elusive assistance of the Eldar Death Legion, the dormant Primarch Robert Guilliman was successfully awakened, bringing a glimmer of hope to the dying Empire.

However, the cruelty and hardship inherent in this path of redemption, which is so highly anticipated, far exceed what any cold words can describe.

Belisarius Caul and his massive fleet of Foundry Arks fled hastily from the wreckage of Cadia, and the journey to Macragge was far from easy.

That was a death corridor traversing the raging storms of warp space, a desperate escape under the relentless pursuit and interception of the minions of chaos and the fleet of traitors.

The cost was devastating: the magnificent Forging Ark was blasted apart and torn apart in a series of fierce battles, turning into cold cosmic dust; the accompanying Imperial fleet—its loyal soldiers and fearless ships—was almost completely slaughtered in desperate rearguard action and brutal firefights.

In the end, only Kaul and a small group of wounded survivors were able to drag their broken bodies and bathe in the blood of their comrades to the other side of Macurag, like scattered fragments that had managed to climb ashore after a raging storm.

Guilliman's awakening was far from the prelude to a glorious return.

When he broke free from his millennia-long slumber and opened his eyes, he was not greeted by the cheers of his people, but by the piercing alarms and towering flames of war that threatened to engulf his home planet, Macurag.

This newly revived Primarch, barely having time to adapt to his body after ten thousand years, had to drag himself into battle despite his lingering weakness, using swift and decisive measures to stabilize the crisis on his home planet.

But this was only the beginning; an even greater shadow had already loomed: as the great rift tore open, the corruption and threat of chaos, like a deadly plague, was frantically eroding the core territory of the five hundred worlds under his rule—Otrama. Every star system was burning, and every defense line was in dire need of repair.

What pained Guilliman even more was the cold reality and the decline of the empire.

The golden age of 10,000 years ago has long since turned to dust.

He could no longer, like in the glorious days of the Great Crusade, rally hundreds of thousands of Astartes Legion soldiers with a single call to arms, forming an iron torrent that marched straight toward Holy Terra.

Now, all he can cobble together is a pitifully small expeditionary force with extremely limited resources.

With this meager force symbolizing the Empire's last struggle, Guilliman resolutely embarked on his journey to Terra.

The road ahead is uncertain and fraught with danger. Every step is a matter of life and death, and every leap could plunge one into an abyss of no return.

Meanwhile, the hunters of chaos had already sharpened their claws in the darkness, eagerly awaiting this prey that had returned after millennia.

The Red Pirates' venomous stingers were precise and deadly; they successfully intercepted Guilliman's expeditionary force and defeated them in a brutal boarding action. The Red Pirate King, the rebellious Huron, in a blasphemous laugh, had actually defeated his own genetic father!
Even more tragically, the flagship symbolizing the supreme glory of the Thirteenth Legion, the Glory of Macragge, also fell into the hands of traitors in this crushing defeat and became a spoil of war for Chaos.

At that moment, the hope of the empire's revival seemed to be completely extinguished.

If it weren't for the fallen angel Cypher, burdened with the names of betrayal and curse, who appeared like a ghost and offered a helping hand at the most desperate moment, Guilliman, the last pillar of the empire, along with his faint flame of hope, would have been forever extinguished in the dark prison of the Red Pirates.

Even so, Guilliman never truly escaped his predicament.

Just like the eighty-one tribulations on the journey to the West in the legend, each one was a near-death experience.

Although he successfully led the remnants of the expeditionary force to escape from the clutches of the Red Pirates and, with the help of the ancient net, narrowly escaped the raging vortex to reach the moon, before he could catch his breath, a deadly shadow descended—blocking his way was none other than his fallen brother, the Crimson Lord Magnus.

This Primarch, who was once the most powerful psionicist in the Empire, was often jokingly referred to as "One-Eyed Oglin," but his terrifying strength as the Scarlet Wizard King was beyond doubt.

From the very first exchange, Guilliman found himself at a significant disadvantage.

Magnus's violent psionic energy, capable of tearing reality apart, nearly engulfed Guilliman completely, and the chilling death was within reach.

At the critical moment, if it weren't for the timely arrival of Sister Silent's silent domain, which isolates the warp, and the desperate support of the other Imperial armies, who together suppressed and ultimately drove out this terrible sorcerer king, Guilliman would have perished on this desolate moon, and the last glimmer of the Empire's revival would have been extinguished there.

Exhausted and wounded, Guilliman finally arrived at Holy Terra—the heart and symbol of the Empire.

However, this is neither the end of suffering nor the beginning of turning the tide.

Terra, which awaited him, had long been corrupted by internal decay and external terror.

Those High Lord Council members, who were like insects, callously abandoned all the civilians outside the Royal Palace District in the face of the catastrophe that tore the galaxy apart by the Great Rift.

This heinous sin and cowardice directly brought about the most terrifying retribution—Khorne's demon army descended upon the land of Holy Terra!
Eighty-eight Khorne demon armies, composed of blood and fury and led by eight ferocious and bloodthirsty demons, launched a hysterical all-out attack on the last stronghold of the human empire—the Imperial Palace—like a destructive torrent.

Their roars shook the foundations of the Emperor, their blasphemous roars crashing against the ancient walls of Terra, their objective clear—they not only sought to destroy the human empire, but also to bring the Emperor's great achievements to an end here, plunging the galaxy into eternal chaos and corruption.

If it weren't for the Royal Guard—those golden warriors who hadn't ventured out of the palace on a large scale since the Great Crusade—finally setting out again after ten thousand years, fighting alongside mortal soldiers and Astartes monks at Lion's Gate, and repelling Khorne's bloodthirsty demon army at the cost of near annihilation, the human empire might have truly perished and turned into dust in history.

As for the Highlord Council members who were like insects after the war, they did not forget to fight for power and profit even at the most critical moment of the Empire. They even absurdly claimed that the Primarch should only exist as a symbol and should not interfere with the "divine rule" of mankind (the Highlords). They even slandered the resurrected Primarch as the biggest internal threat to the Empire. These ridiculous remarks seemed less important in the face of a real world-ending crisis.

(End of this chapter)