[Bonus Chapter]
Inside the Sanctum of Purity, a deathly silence reigned.
The Chaos Space Marines, now surrounded and cowed by the Primarch's furious presence, exchanged anxious glances. "It seems we've come at the wrong time—can we even retreat?"
"Blood… Blood for the Blood God!"
A frenzied, incoherent cry shattered the stillness.
Then he stepped forward—the lone, indomitable warrior of Chaos!
Before the stunned eyes of his comrades, one Chaos Berserker leaped up and lunged at the Primarch.
THWACK!
Guilliman barely moved—a slight shift, and then:
Flare of Burning Fury!
Only the likes of Calgar, Saint Celestine, and other true champions could clearly witness that thunderous strike, and they were stunned by the Primarch's speed, far beyond their reach.
In midair, the Emperor's Sword carved a blazing arc.
The Berserker was cleaved in half—his severed body, caught by inertia, was flung to distant patches of the shattered ground.
The thud of a Chaos warrior's corpse hitting the ground became a grim rallying cry.
With savage, hate-fueled roars, the Chaos Space Marines surged forward in a desperate charge against Guilliman!
The Primarch's expression remained resolute as he strode forward to meet them head-on.
Thus began a massacre that made Chaos warriors tremble with dread.
First to fall was the Sorcerer—
The greatest threat among these traitorous Chaos warriors, for his psychic powers posed the most danger.
Guilliman gripped the gauntlet of Command, a legendary power fist integrated with a burst-fire railgun. In an instant, a torrent of armor-piercing shrapnel was unleashed, reducing the fallen psyker to mere dust.
Next came the berserkers, charging with wild abandon.
But like the first berserker, within a few heartbeats they were all transformed into nothing more than clotted flesh encased in shattered armor.
The process was so swift it defied belief.
Guilliman's speed was simply too great—Chaos warriors stood no chance of even getting close.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
From afar, Chaos marines began pouring volleys of ammunition toward the Primarch. Dozens of crisscrossing chains of explosive rounds rained down with lethal intent.
There was no chance to dodge.
Yet Guilliman had no plans to evade; he accelerated and launched a counter-charge against the onrushing barrage!
The explosive slugs shattered against the surface of his Fate-Armor but could not penetrate its impenetrable defenses.
With a roar of pure, explosive wrath, Guilliman smashed into the enemy's ranks.
His first punch sent a Chaos Champion soaring into the heavens—a trajectory measured between his life and his death—while a trail of thick, crimson blood spattered the air.
His second blow struck a hulking Chaos Terminator; that warrior's corpse was driven like a cannonball into a marble colonnade of the sanctum.
The impact shattered the solid pillar, flinging chunks of stone and splintered flesh in every direction.
One Chaos marine, wielding a hideous power sword, swung viciously at Guilliman's head—only to be met with a swift retribution: before the blade could even connect, Guilliman's counterattack severed his arm.
In the blink of an eye, the warrior's vision began to spin uncontrollably.
Guilliman's slicing return strike then cleaved the attacker's head clean off along with the severed limb!
Every blow from the Primarch was like a clap of thunder.
Not even the superhuman reflexes of these Chaos renegades could save them.
Their assaults, even if they managed a counterattack at the last moment, could only leave behind shattered fragments of ammunition or broken weapons on the surface of his Fate-Armor.
Emboldened by Guilliman's overwhelming might, Calgar and the other loyal warriors too plunged back into the fray, determined to crush the remaining Chaos forces.
In the Warp—the mirror of reality—a monumental shift had taken place.
Guilliman's resurrection signified an irreversible turning point in the war between the Imperium and Chaos.
The seismic shock of this transformation struck the very heart of the Immaterium, sending turbulent waves outward like a colossal tsunami.
Countless eyes within the Warp took notice of this anomaly.
One after another, they fixed their gaze upon the change.
The favored minions of the Chaos Gods recognized the return of the Primarch, and at the same time, they realized the dread power of that elusive Daemon Eater.
When comparing the legendary return of a being from ten millennia past with the sudden appearance of a mysterious force, which was the greater threat?
This question vexed even the most ancient of Chaos.
In terms of individual might and influence over the battlefield, the Primarch was undoubtedly Chaos's number one enemy in the realm of reality.
Yet when it came to sheer potential for devastation, the cursed power wielded by the Daemon Eater was, in many ways, even more alarming—especially to the daemons who had witnessed the Holy Sun's fury and now trembled in its wake.
For the forces of Chaos, Guilliman stood as the rallying figure for humanity—a beacon capable of restoring the Imperium's might.
But that sly, elusive Daemon Eater…
He was nothing less than a terrorist among men—someone who could appear without warning, hurling a terrifying, cursed blast of Holy Sun energy that left nothing but ruin in its path.
Inside the resplendent palace draped in opulence and writhing tendrils, demon-servitors whispered in hushed tones.
At the mere utterance of the name "Daemon Eater," their voices trembled with fear.
In a lavish chamber adorned with grotesque, twisting decorations, the daemon primarch—the fallen Phoenix, Fulgrim—lounged lazily on a velvet throne. He feasted on a macabre banquet of souls, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
For Fulgrim had witnessed the return of his fallen comrade, Guilliman, slain long ago but now resurrected.
Swearing fealty to the divine lord of lust and excess, he vowed that this time he would strip Guilliman of his noble veneer and condemn him to eternal corruption.
He would also find that clumsy, unrefined Daemon Eater and subject him to unspeakable torments—ensuring that he would never again rival his own influence.
Deep within the secretive corridors of hidden shrines and crystalline labyrinths, the master of fate-weavers, the inimitable Carlos, observed the ripples in the threads of destiny.
Guilliman's return had set the future on a new course.
Each bizarre, kaleidoscopic strand of fate carried within it the will of the master of change himself.
The fate-weavers began to pluck the strands that suited their desires, weaving together a tapestry that would determine whether the Emperor's Son would fall, betray, or be utterly annihilated.
Magnus's gaze fell upon the pitiful thread that belonged to the Daemon Eater. Instinctively, he reached out to follow it—only to be immediately halted by his fellow fate-weavers, who protested vehemently.
Even he felt a shudder of dread, for the last time one of them had dared such a move, their master—the ever-mutating Trickster—had been scalded by the ferocious energies of the Cursed One.
Now, the Trickster had secluded himself in a crystalline vault, unwilling to emerge. The unbearable stench of the cursed energy still clung to the Crystal Labyrinth, corrupting its environment so thoroughly that it now resembled a festering garden far worse than a blighted swamp—haunting many demons with recurring nightmares.
In the depths of the Noxious Garden, within a fetid, plague-ridden marsh, messenger flies buzzed incessantly, carrying word of Guilliman's return and the latest news concerning the Daemon Eater.
The Great Defilers listened with a perverse smile as they absorbed the crucial details; they gaped with drooling, maggot-ridden chins, laughing with abandon.
Sickly bile splattered in all directions.
A gene-forged primarch's reappearance—and the trace of the Daemon Eater—was a gift that would surely delight the Plague Lord himself.
Perhaps they would even coerce the Daemon Eater into joining the ranks of the Plague, or broker a reconciliation between poor Mortarion and his estranged brethren.
In a far-off corner of the Noxious Garden, the ethereal Life Goddess Aisha, draped in gossamer, sat on a swing and listened intently to the message-bearing flies.
Suddenly, a gentle smile spread across her lovely face as she heard news of the Daemon Eater—news that he had grown even stronger.
"Will you come to save me, won't you?" Aisha's tender features shone with hopeful expectancy.
Elsewhere in the galaxy, as the war between the Imperium and the forces of Chaos reached its tipping point, the champions of Chaos reduced eighty-eight civilized worlds to ash.
Bathed in the flames of obliteration, the followers of the Blood God—be they mere mortals or savage daemons—felt the unbridled fury of the Blood God surge through them.
Yet this victory did not bring Him joy, for far away in Ultramar, the Chaos Legion had suffered a crushing defeat.
Their Chief Daemon had been grievously wounded, and two Chaos Lords had fallen!
The scales of power had shifted in unimaginable ways. In the realm of tangible might and battlefield impact, Guilliman was undoubtedly Chaos's foremost nemesis.
But in terms of raw destructive potential, the cursed energies that the Daemon Eater could summon posed an even graver threat—especially to those daemons who had witnessed the sublime radiance of the Holy Sun and now trembled before its wrath.
In the end, who should the enemies of Chaos fear more?
The legendary Primarch, the unyielding beacon rallying humanity?
Or the wily, shadowy Daemon Eater—ever unpredictable, capable of unleashing a stench of cursed, holy fire that could decimate all in its path?
No one knew when that dreaded Daemon Eater would reappear to hurl his terrifying, foul-smelling blast of Holy Sun upon them.
Inside a resplendent, tentacle-laden palace, demon-servants whispered amongst themselves.
When the name "Daemon Eater" passed from the trembling lips of one such imp, they shuddered in terror.
...
Across dying worlds, Khorne roared in fury.
His voice thundered like a cataclysm, shaking the very fabric of reality.
In his wrath, he launched new invasions, unleashed even greater wars—
A blood price to compensate for this humiliating loss.
He issued a new decree:
Whoever claimed the head of Guilliman or the Daemon Eater would receive Khorne's highest honor!
The Primarch's return was too radiant to go unnoticed.
Even the Dark Lords, residing in the farthest reaches of Chaos, had turned their attention to this event.
From the Eye of Terror, a shadow stirred.
Abaddon the Despoiler felt the ripples of Guilliman's resurrection—a sign that his dispatched fleets had failed.
They had not prevented the prophecy from coming true.
The Warmaster found the cause of this failure—a name emerged in his mind.
Daemon Eater.
A rogue entity who had thwarted Chaos' forces and allowed Guilliman's revival.
Driven by fury, the Despoiler dispatched more warbands.
They would scour the galaxy to find this Daemon Eater.
At the same time, he began crafting new strategies to eliminate the Primarch once and for all.
On two separate, hellish daemon worlds, two Fallen Primarchs received the same news.
In the plague-choked realm of the Death Lord, Mortarion raged.
His fury manifested as a toxic storm, sweeping across reality.
Seven plagues of unparalleled horror descended upon unfortunate Imperial worlds.
From the rotting haze of the Plague Planet, he gazed upon his mustered legions of the Death Guard.
He swore that Guilliman and his Imperium would rot away together.
That day was not far off.
Meanwhile, upon the Daemon World of the Crimson King, Magnus the Red furrowed his brow.
A burning tarot card floated before him.
It bore only one message—
In the near future, he would face the Daemon Eater's wrath.
The second card revealed Guilliman's fate—
But it was no longer certain.
The Daemon Eater's influence had corrupted fate itself.
The once clear vision of the Primarch's future had fractured into countless chaotic paths.
After a moment's hesitation, Magnus decided to stick to his original plan.
With a whisper of sorcery, words formed into crystal-winged insects, fluttering away.
They carried his commands—to muster the Thousand Sons, once his proudest legion, now slaves to fate.
Magnus would punish his returning brother—
And the enigmatic Daemon Eater.
Guilliman's return upended the Immaterium itself.
At the Great Rift, the tear in reality widened further.
Warp storms spread at an alarming rate, plunging the galaxy into even greater madness.
Through the ruptures in reality, entire legions of daemons surged forth.
The Chaos Gods unleashed new invasions, making the Imperium's plight even more dire.
The Imperium's darkened borders braced for wave after wave of Chaos incursions.
But this did not mean the Chaos Gods had set aside their rivalries.
On the contrary, the chaos among Chaos itself only intensified.
The fierce emotions spawned by reality's upheaval fueled their internecine war.
Any distraction could be fatal.
Blood for the Blood God! War Within Chaos
In the Warp, the minions of Chaos turned upon one another.
A Khorne warhost advanced upon the Crystal Labyrinth.
Meanwhile, Slaanesh's Knights of Excess invaded the Garden of Nurgle, while Nurgle's Plaguebearers marched to strike at Khorne's Ironfire Bastion.
At the borders of the Crystal Labyrinth, a Khorne warband descended upon Tzeentch's realm.
Leading them was Baal, the Butcher, a Bloodthirster favored by Khorne himself.
For years, he had followed his mysterious master's commands, rising in Khorne's favor.
Now, he had his own warhost—and a mission.
His target: The domain of Tzeentch.
As Baal's warhost clashed with Tzeentch's daemons, a new challenger emerged.
A four-armed Tzeentchian daemon, adorned in colorful feathers and many blinking eyes, brandished warped tendrils of sorcery.
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Throne!"
Baal roared, charging in.
His four brutal cleavers whirled in a crimson storm, hacking through Tzeentch's minions.
The Tzeentchian daemon, undeterred, called down prismatic sorcery, hurling searing flames.
As the two warriors clashed, their gazes met—
And recognition dawned.
A flicker of understanding passed between them.
They were both servants of the same secret master.
The four-armed daemon spoke first:
"You may call me Barul. I will not allow you to pass."
Baal's eyes gleamed with amusement.
"I recognize you, brother. Then fight we shall."
A duel commenced—but it was only for show.
They traded blows, only to intentionally expose weak points, allowing each other to slaughter their respective warbands.
The more daemons they killed, the greater their standing within their factions.
Then, working in secret unity, they ambushed a Lord of Change, assassinating the Tzeentchian commander.
The battle concluded in Khorne's favor, as Baal claimed victory.
Barul had taken the fall—but knowingly.
For Khorne's warhost, failure in the wake of Macragge's loss was unacceptable.
The Blood God's wrath was too great—losing here would bring brutal punishment.
Thus, Barul sacrificed his own forces, ensuring Baal's triumph.
Upon returning to Khorne's domain, Baal sensed a tense, suffocating atmosphere.
Above the Brass Citadel, a crimson shadow loomed, burning with unquenchable rage.
Khorne's fury was absolute.
All the daemons trembled—
For in the heart of the Blood God's wrath, stood Ka'Bandha.
The Chief Bloodthirster had returned—
And now, he faced judgment before the Throne of Skulls.
Inside the Throne Hall—Ka'Bandha's Reckoning
Inside the Brass Throne's chamber, a grim silence settled.
The shadow of Khorne loomed over Ka'Bandha, rage seething in the air.
The assembled Greater Daemons of Khorne dared not raise their heads.
Ka'Bandha, his body charred and wings tattered, reeked of the Daemon Eater's cursed energy.
Though he feared the wrath of his god, he did not bow.
Instead, he stood tall, facing the Blood God's fury head-on.
(End of Chapter) (Mess of a chapter...)
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