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Warhammer 40,000: Discussione Generalis #2

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it is the book made by Haley, 686 pages, so it seems whole to me.

@Matt & @Az, you still want it? i also got Crimson King
 
well my lovecraftian friend, you have to do something rarely done, pm me on chat.

you be there? say and i will go.
 
Wow 8th Edition drops in less than three days and I still haven't finished the Rise of the Primarch summary. Better fix that.

  • So chapter 3 begins with Guilliman and the loyalists in space jail, as the Red Corsairs have taken them to their BLACKSTONE FORTRESS. Which apparently they just had lying around. Because **** it.
  • Their victory does not last very long, as a massive fleet of Khorne forces led by Skarbrand assaults the Fortress. Well that was extremely fast.
  • A group of Harlequins led by...Cypher? What the hell?...sneaks on board, and, after literally curbstomping one of the guards, they free Guilliman (and the rest of the Crusade's forces, subsequently), with the promise that the mysterious space marine will be taken to Terra in order to meet the Emperor.
  • The freed loyalists find themselves now having to fight through a metric fuckton of daemons, who are in the middle of warring with each other in the halls of the Fortress. Making their way to a Webway portal provided by the Harlequins is easier said than done, as Blackstone Fortresses are so large, the central chamber alone is 100 miles in diameter.
  • The Legion of the Damned show up to give them much needed reinforcements, but things are still getting more dangerous by the minute. Skarbrand begins to make his way towards them, and his mere presence sends most of the Imperial forces into uncontrolled bloodlust, Amalrich and the remaining Black Templars going to far to hurl themselves at Skarbrand and begin dueling him in a fight they're destined to lose.
  • Just as they're within the home stretch, Skarbrand's rage powers overcome Guilliman, and he blindly launches himself at the Bloodthirster. While Guilliman may have an edge in power, he knows the daemon's rage will soon turn him into a mindless berserker, allowing Skarbrand the chance to slay him as he loses all sense of tactics and self preserveration. Using his "I'm a Primarch, **** you" ridiculous mind powers, Guilliman wills Skarbrand's influence out of his mind and proceeds to shoot him in the face.
  • Skarbrand doesn't give up so easily, and is determined to claim Gorillaman's skull. However, Gilligan notices that Amalrich's black blade (pouring out a 40 for my dude Amalrich RIP) is stuck in Skarbrand's chest. Not willing to use up any more precious time fighting the daemon, Guilliman shoots the black blade, essentially turning it into a makeshift holy frag grenade, causing the Bloodthirster to fall off the platform to lower levels and allowing the remainder of the Terran Crusade to hastily proceed to get the hell out of there and into the Webway.
  • Inside the Webway, they meet up with the rest of the Harlequins, along with Cypher's Fallen. Since the universe apparently really hates Guilliman, the Harlequin's scouts report sightings of Thousand Sons soldiers stalking the Webway, because despite the fact we are told Guilliman's very presence twists the strands of fate and renders precog ultimately meaningless, Magnus was just able to predict everything that would happen up until now, I guess. Just as planned.
  • Gimgam realizes that Magnus, already knowing where the portal to Terra is, instead plans to follow the loyalists through as soon as its protection is weakened to give them passage. Knowing how much havoc the daemon Primarch could cause, the Harlequins instead suggest using a secret portal that leads to the mooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!
  • As soon as they take a couple of steps on the right path, they're ambushed by an absolutely ludicrous number of Tzaangors, Rubric Marines, and Sorcerers. Needless to say, the Crusaders make a break for the portal as opposed to fighting a battle stacked against them.
  • Upon their frantic arrival to Princess Luna, the loyalists have to hold off the Thousand Sons coming through the portal until more Imperial forces arrive. Since they have the high ground, they're doing a pretty good job until Magnus himself comes through the portal and immediately starts ******* shit up, such as literally speaking a word and obliterating three things meant to take on Greater Daemons. Or picking up a Land Raider and throwing it through a bunch of Skitarii. Or cutting open reality and causing a bunch of daemons to swarm out onto the moon's surface.
  • This leads to one of the two parts of the book I genuinely really like, which is the fight between Guilliman and Magnus. The confrontation between the two, while far quicker than it would be in a novel, is quite well written, and really conveys how each of them feels after 10,000 years. I'll post some quotes of it, later.
  • Anywho, ThankYouComeAgain realizes that Magnus would quickly destroy his army if given free reign, so he engages in combat with him alone, hoping to distract him from the main battle. Guilliman lands a couple good blows on Magnus, though is quickly overpowered with sheer psychic might when the Crimson King gets serious. And by serious I mean lighting Guilliman on fire and then proceeding to smash a concentrated wave of several hundred tons of rubble onto him with the force of a comet. Using his sheer will, Guilliman manages to ignore his wounds and crawl his way out of the rubble. Before Magnus can fire off another spell, reinforcements finally arrive.
  • Defence fleets, squads of Imperial Fists, and even warriors of the Adeptus Custodes show up to help cut down the traitor legions. While Magnus destroys the transports coming directly to Guilliman's aid, two squads of Sisters of Silence show up, in what I'm pretty sure is their first appearance since they were believed to be wiped out in the War of the Beast. These two squads prove enough to deaden Magnus' psychic abilities with their Null field, giving Guilliman and the Sisters a chance to go on the offensive.
  • Though Magnus is still able to cut many of the Sisters of Silence down with incredible speed, their sacrifice allows Guilliman plenty of time to land damaging blows on his brother. However, the Harlequins are aware that if Magnus remains on Luna, all the loyalist forces will eventually be destroyed. They fix this by doing the equivalent of pushing him down some stairs. By which I mean Guilliman stabs Magnus in the chest with the Emperor's sword, causing Magnus to stumble backwards through the portal, before the Harlequins crush the runestones keeping it open and stop Magnus from ever reentering through there.
  • With Magnus gone, the daemons he summoned are also banished, and his forces are diminished. However, even a diminished band of Rubricae and Sorcerers is a dangerous foe, and Guilliman orders an all-out assault on the remaining Chaos forces, eventually destroying them.
  • More Custodians arrive in a giant aquila ship, taking Guilliman and the small remainder of his forces to Terra. This does not include the Harlequins, who decided to **** off back to the Webway once their job was complete.
  • This is the other part of the book I really like. Again, it's brief, but Guilliman's landing on Terra and trip to the throne room are very well written, aptly describing the gloom and emptiness he feels watching pathetic individuals cry out to the heavens in joy of the Primarch's return, their entire lives spent being slowly churned through a hellish bureaucracy that even their descendents had not guarantee of escaping.
  • Upon reaching the entrance to the throne room, Cawl and the Shield Captain who accompanied them there explain the situation to present Tech-Priests and Custodians. Guilliman demands to see the Emperor, to which the Custodian Aquila Commander replied Guilliman may enter, but only Guilliman. Cypher, who hasn't really done anything in like 15 pages, gets pissed because Guilliman promised him audience with the Emperor. However, Gummyman recognizes the Lion Sword of Cypher's back, and knows better than to allow the mysterious marine in the Emperor's presence.
  • Cypher is put in a jail that nobody has escaped in 1,000 years.
  • Cypher escapes the jail that nobody has escaped in 1,000 years in the following sentence.
  • Guilliman finally meets with his father, which lasts what seems to be an entire day. When he finally returns, he tells the pleading crowds only that his father gave him all the guidance he needed.
  • The book ends with Guilliman spending the following days actually getting shit done on Terra. He fires and replaces most of the incompotent High Lords, begins to raise new armies (SPACE MARINE S P A C E M A R I N E S), and musters fleets in numbers and power that rival those of the Great Crusade. Guilliman vows that humanity will not be swallowed by the oncoming darkness, but triumph over it on the crest of a bloody wave of war.
Whew. There. Rise of the Primarch completed.
 
Some stuff from that Guilliman vs Magnus fight I mentioned that I liked.

"Magnus," he shouted through his vox grill, searching around for him. The Primarch knew his dubiously gifted brother could hear his words, even in the void of space. "I know better than to think you dead. Face me!"

"Very well, Roboute," laughed Magnus, and his words conjured crystalline showers that rained down upon the pale ground. "Here I am, in the flesh. And -- somehow -- there you are." Magnus cocked his head to one side and smirked. "I don't remember you seeming so... insignificant."

"Ten millennia have made you no less arrogant, then?" asked Guilliman, warily circling his towering foe. Inside his helm, a look of disgust twisted his patrician features as he regarded the monstrous form of the Crimson King. "Certainly those years have done you no other kindness."

Magnus sighed. "How you can have such grand plans and yet such scant vision has always eluded me. This," the Daemon Primarch said, empyric energies stirring as they gathered around his levelled glaive, "is what true power looks like."

"I see no power here," said Guilliman, shaking his head in dismay. "I see corruption, and enslavement to monsters that are worshipped as gods."

"On that, Roboute," Magnus laughed, sparing a glance at the loyalists fighting nearby, "perhaps we can finally agree."
 
@Morkar

I haven't had a chance to finish it yet, but I'm working on it.

@TheOmnipotens

Currently far too vague to say anything for certain. A lot of the wording regarding the Warp is specifically in "nothing is as it seems" territory, and writers often intentionally use metaphor to describe it, or only describe the manifestations of each gods' plane. To my knowledge, the best straight-up feat we have at the moment is Necrons harnessing 20-dimensional tech and the Warp being beyond the very concept of time.
 
Here's Guilliman vs Fulgrim in full:

'I hear you, Fulgrim!' he cried. 'Come out into the light!'
This time, Fulgrim replied. His voice was as mellifluous as it always had been, but the neediness that had always lurked at the back of his words had come to fore, a poison masquerading as confidence.
'Why are you in such a hurry?' he said, his whisper filling the Heliopolis. 'Your strategy is to play for time, is it not? To allow your sons in their fine new paints to cripple this ship. They look so colourful now, Guilliman, so much less dull than blue, blue, blue. How was it to break up your Legion, Guilliman? Did it hurt?'
'Come and face me. Let us settle our differences honourably.'
'Do you want to talk?' Fulgrim, still unseen, tittered. 'About what? A little family reunion? You and I have nothing in common. We never did, and now we have even less. I serve the true powers of this universe, while you languish under the dead hand of our father. You are so predictable, Roboute.' He laughed. 'So dull, so stolid. Boring old Roboute! You were the unloved child, while the brighter stars got all of father's attention. Overlooked, until the end, and then when you were needed you were not there. It must have stung, brother, to be so outshone. Perturabo did not enjoy it, I know. Did you?'
Guilliman peered hard through the light. It responded to his prodigious will, its obscuring effect lessened, and he caught a hint of sinuous movement on the far side of the circle.
'Our father honoured me always,' shouted Guilliman across the empty chamber.
Fulgrim laughed, louder and louder until the Heliopolis filled with wild mirth that seemed to issue from a thousand throats. 'Oh, forgive me! That is so precious. Do you not remember my eagle, dear Roboute? It was I who was honoured, not you.'
The rasping of scales drew closer. Luminous green eyes glinted on the other side of the inimical light. Guilliman set himself and stood tall.
'My Legion may not have won your plaudits, Fulgrim, but I chose the slow and steady road, and that was the better way. You were always racing toward perfection, away from your fear of failure. Your fear made you run right into the arms of damnation.'
'Failure?' Fulgrim scoffed. 'Damnation? I have not failed! I am not damned!' Fulgrim slithered into the light. 'I am saved.'
'For the love of Terra…' whispered Guilliman.
Guilliman had seen pict-captures of his brother from the siege of the Imperial Palace on Terra. He had viewed them many times, noting the changes wrought upon his sibling as dispassionately as he could, fighting back the revulsion he felt at the sight. Reports and the occasional image of his sibling had surfaced from his reavings since. The image on the Phoenix Gate had been no surprise. He knew what to expect, but faced with Fulgrim in the flesh, he struggled to contain his dismay.
The Phoenician's legs were gone, replaced with a long serpent's tail. His torso and face had become elongated, his chest altered to accommodate an additional pair of arms. Despite his obscene form, everything was weirdly perfect. The muscles in his bare chest were exquisitely defined. His skin was a gorgeous shade of lilac. The snakeskin of his lower half shone with jewelled colour, and he moved with grace to shame the aeldari. But all this was a perversion of his former beauty, if not of the very idea of beauty itself. It was too much, so perfect in its awful twisting of the human form that it went beyond the ability of the mind to process. Fulgrim's new shape provoked revulsion by its very nature, while awing with the artfulness by which it had been done. By design, he was made to arouse and repulse equally.
His head in particular was changed, long and crowned with horns that rose crimson from his shock of white hair. His face, however, remained his own, a sickening joke to crown his dark transcendence. Seeing the features of his brother melded to this monster brought tears to Guilliman's eyes.
Finely wrought ornaments jangled on Fulgrim's limbs. Soft leather straps held long gloves in place on his right arms. The left arms were painted with delicate patterns, his fingers hung with chains and their nails stained clashing shades. Vile sigils decorated the buckles of his harness. More were tattooed upon his skin.
Fulgrim rose up on his banded tail, holding his four arms wide in the sickly light of the Heliopolis.
'Behold, my brother. See! What the Emperor made, the Prince of Pleasure has improved upon. Am I not perfection? I was made to be a slave, but now I am free, and the companion to a greater god than our father can ever be.'
'The Emperor is not a god,' said Guilliman.
The ship quaked. A signifier in Guilliman's helmet turned from red to green. The portside void generators had been disabled. Datascreed informed him the Fourth Company of the Iron Snakes was making a fighting withdrawal.
'Do you still believe that?' said Fulgrim. He inched forwards, swaying hypnotically. 'He always did protest too much about that. You think I am a traitor, I know. You think I am selfish, and deluded, but no more so than dear, dear father. He gave me so much, not least a taste for treachery.'
Fulgrim leaned closer, close enough for his hot, perfumed breath to caress Guilliman's armoured face. The cloying stink of it penetrated his breathing grille, making him gag. There was a scent of something rotten beneath the melange of spices, one note of decay in a bouquet of opulence.
There is the truth, thought Guilliman. The miasma of corruption, a murdered corpse hidden in a bed of flowers.
'Join with me,' said Fulgrim seductively. 'You must be tired of all this strife. We can bring an end to war, and revel together in sweet excess for all eternity. I can show you things, pleasures, you would never have dreamed existed. You think of the warp as a hell, but it can be a heaven also. Together, we can usher in an age of delight for all mankind that will never end.'
'Never,' said Guilliman. 'You have been deceived. I will not follow you into darkness.' He stepped backwards, his hand going to the hilt of the Gladius Incandor. The primarchs were mighty beings and great in stature, but swollen with the power of Chaos, Fulgrim overtopped Guilliman by almost a metre.
'It is you who has been deceived, Roboute,' said Fulgrim.
'Look at what you have become, and you will see the wages of disloyalty.'
'You speak to me of loyalty.' Fulgrim tutted and shook his long warped head. 'And where do your loyalties lie, lord commander? You were late to the Palace, were you not? Delayed. Always, your love for your own kingdom trumps your so-called loyalty to our father. Like a little Emperor, playing at being daddy in the sand, making tiny empires. You would have saved the Five Hundred Worlds and lost the million of our father. Pathetic.' A long, forked tongue flitted over his painted lips. 'How are your Five Hundred Worlds now, brother? How many are left? Four hundred? Three? I hear Angron and Lorgar had a rare time bringing down the bastions of your puny realm and slitting the throats of your people.'
Guilliman's anger ran hot. 'I will not bend my knee to your masters. These gods you and the others profess to worship are not gods. They are monsters, nothing more. There can be no rapprochement between us. No reconciliation. You have become the tool of the enemy, and so I must kill you.'
'You have come to kill me? Really? How amusing, because I have come to kill you!' said Fulgrim with mocking surprise. He clapped his upper pair of hands. 'What a coincidence. You do realise, I need no starship to travel the void.' He gestured at his body, his four hands moving with obscene, suggestive precision. 'I am no longer a thing of this realm of ash and dust, but a radiant creature of the warp.' He pulled a moue of sympathy. 'Oh, I am so sorry, but this was a trap for you, Roboute ― the whole thing, from my first raids to your supposed victory at Xolco, and you have fallen into it.'
Since the first indication of Fulgrim turning to fight here, Guilliman had known he had been outplayed, but he would not give his brother the satisfaction of knowing this. He steeled his heart and prepared to fight.
'I will not be turned.'
'I never thought you would,' said Fulgrim sweetly.
Another shudder passed up the Pride of the Emperor. The rune denoting the strike against the enginarium turned green. Corvo would be pulling his Chapter back.
'You can run now, if you want,' said Fulgrim. 'I believe your warriors have accomplished what you sent them to do. This vessel cannot pursue you. Some of you might even live. I do not care. All of you will bow before Slaanesh before the end.'
'Enough!' said Guilliman. He drew the Gladius Incandor in his right hand. The Hand of Dominion sparked into life on his left, an oily field of blue light encasing its massive robotic fingers and underslung boltguns. Raising the flat of his blade to the muzzle of his helm, he saluted his brother. He thumbed a switch, and a sheath of energy covered the blade to match that of his fist.
'You are staying?' said Fulgrim. 'No dramatic teleportation? No strategic withdrawal? You actually want to fight someone you cannot hope to beat? Well, well, well, you are beginning to surprise me, Roboute. I never thought you had it in you. Perhaps you are not so boring after all.'
'Honour demands I slay you.'
Fulgrim stretched out his arms. Blades rose from nothing, sprouting from his clenched fists, black vapours boiling off their metal as they were forced into being. The swords were mismatched in form, and every one a different pastel hue. Bright poisons dripped from their edges.
'Honour will get you killed.' Fulgrim raised his own blades to his face, the edges ringing off one another. There was no mockery to the salute. 'So it is, brother. We come to the end. With you dead, our other brothers will follow, one by one. The Imperium cannot last without your guidance. It is you who holds the whole crumbling thing together.' He smiled sadly. 'Dull as you are, you were among the best of us. I almost feel sorry to kill you, if only because you will not see the triumph of the true powers of the universe, and know the liberation they bring.'
Swift as a striking viper, Fulgrim attacked, all four blades driving down at his brother primarch so quickly that they did not seem to pass through the intervening air. Guilliman caught them on the edge of the Gladius Incandor. Its field generator smoked at the effort of halting them. The resulting eruption of energy threw both primarchs backwards.
Fulgrim attacked again. Guilliman cried out as one blade found its way past his parries and left a smoking groove in the ceramite around his left arm. He would not win this fight.
'Thiel, Andros,' voxed Guilliman. 'Now.'
There was a sound like a sigh that turned into a rumbling groan. The Heliopolis boomed with conflicting resonances, and the Phoenix Gate exploded inwards, showering the room with gobbets of molten bronze. The Ultramarines of the First and Second companies came charging in, bolters firing at the daemon primarch battling their lord.
'At last! Your true colours,' said Fulgrim. 'For all your talk of honour, you will not face me alone.'
 
Angered, he rained a flurry of blows down on Guilliman, driving the primarch back up one step, then two. The bolts aimed at the daemon primarch were turned aside by diabolical art, and he stood in the full face of the Ultramarines' attack.
'My sons are here to greet yours,' he said. 'Let them join the revel.' Parrying Guilliman's attacks with insolent ease, Fulgrim threw back his head. His jaws opened wide enough to swallow a man whole, and he let out a shrieking ululation.
From the far side of the Heliopolis, a harrowing, discordant noise answered the call of the daemon primarch. From the upper tiers of the Heliopolis' seats marched the twisted warriors of the Emperor's Children, many bearing sonic weapons from which came the thrumming of destructive music.
'Now, we shall see whose children will survive!' snarled Fulgrim, and came at his brother. Guilliman countered and parried, his mighty gauntlet batting aside Fulgrim's swords as his own hunted through the cage of steel Fulgrim wove with his four blades, seeking out the tainted flesh behind.
Fulgrim snarled as the tip of Guilliman's gladius nicked his skin. Rising up on his tail, he swept down with his swords in quick succession. :Guilliman's weapons found them all, turning them aside with economical movements. Nevertheless, he was sorely pressed. He had fought daemons of every kind on many worlds and bested them all. Fulgrim, however, was an unholy blend of primarch and daemon. In him, the energy of the warp was married to the wisdom of ancient sciences. He was part material god, part immaterial daemon lord, and his power was great.
Guilliman cut and feinted, using the Hand of Dominion to catch the sword wielded by Fulgrim's lower-left arm. The unholy metal of the blade cut into the thick ceramite of the gauntlet, and corrosive poison spattered the Armour of Reason, eating into it with smoking ferocity.
Pain somehow afflicted Guilliman through his armour, as if his war-plate itself were hurt. A spicy agony burned up the nerves in his arm from his interface sockets. He gritted his teeth and twisted the gauntlet. Energy crackled and banged, and the sword snapped in two. Ichor pumped from its hollow innards. Strings of flesh tore free as Guilliman cast the broken tip aside. Fulgrim screamed as if his limb had been ripped off, and he recoiled. Guilliman fought against his own pain to slash hard with the Gladius Incandor, cutting deeply into Fulgrim's swordless arm.
'How dare you!' Fulgrim screamed, rearing back. He lunged at his enemy and crashed bodily into him, knocking Guilliman from his feet. The Invictarus Suzerains thundered down the steps to join their lord, forming a shield wall about him as he scrambled up, but Fulgrim slithered into them, barging them from their feet and slaughtering them contemptuously, his swords lopping limbs off with every strike.
'You will die!' shouted Guilliman, and he surged past his last bodyguard as Fulgrim's swords punched through the Space Marine's shield, armour and body. He swung hard with his gauntlet, but Fulgrim was too quick and weaved to the side; the Hand of Dominion punched down and into the marble steps, pulverising three of them.
Guilliman span around, anticipating Fulgrim's next strike, but the daemon had gone.
He searched for his brother in the conflict. Their two armies had met, and their struggles filled the Heliopolis side to side. His warriors and the Emperor's Children were intermingled, the blue armour of the Ultramarines dotted within a sea of clashing colours and battleplate decorated with the stretched skins of the dead. Cones of sound visibly tortured the air, blasting Guilliman's warriors from their feet. Blood fountained from breathing grilles as dying Space Marines coughed up shattered internal organs. A knot of white-helmed Terminators stood back to back, dealing death to any traitor that strayed near, while a wall of Ultramarines Second Company brothers advanced, guns booming, pushing back insane warriors.
War was everywhere, desperate and wild. The situation in the void was mirrored within the Heliopolis. His men were outnumbered. They would die.
First theoretical, Guilliman thought. Fulgrim is a prime evil in this world. First practical, I will kill him.
Second theoretical, he countered, you are angry. Second practical, you will throw your own life and those of your men away for nothing. You have failed in this campaign. Retreat.
A memory of Konor Guilliman, his adoptive father, flashed in his mind.
'Control your humours,' Konor had told him. 'You are mightier in every regard than any man, and that includes your passions. Master them, or you will fail.'
Temper. There was always his temper. For most of his life, Roboute Guilliman had kept his emotions in check, but there had been notable occasions when he had lost his head. At Calth, and when Sotha was attacked. Or when he had arrived late to Terra. Or the early days of the Scouring… He would add this day to that record. Beneath his commanding exterior, Guilliman was seething with fury.
'Fulgrim!' he bellowed. 'Face me!'
A whip-fast motion flickered to his side. Fulgrim sped through the melee, coming from the left. Guilliman barely had time to raise his sword before Fulgrim crashed into him, snarling incoherently, knocking him backwards.
'You hurt me, you corpse-master's lapdog.' The last vestiges of Fulgrim's humanity melted from his face as it transformed into a mask of pure hatred. 'No one hurts me. No one beats me!'
He wrapped his tail around his brother primarch, constricting him with such force that his armour plate began to crack. Casting aside one sword, Fulgrim reached down and grasped Guilliman's head.
'You wanted to face me, so face me!' he said, wrenching free Guilliman's helmet, exposing his naked flesh to the air.
The stink of his corrupted brother made Guilliman gag. His head swam as the daemon primarch's scent invaded his nose and throat, unmoderated by his battlehelm's systems.
'Pathetic!' cried Fulgrim. He uncurled, flinging Guilliman aside. His wounded arm was already healing, crackling warp energies working in tandem with his primarch's physiology to make him whole again. He conjured swords from poisoned mists to fill his empty hands and flew at the Master of Macragge.
Guilliman staggered upright, gasping. Every breath poured more of Fulgrim's lethal perfume into his lungs, a poison so potent that it taxed his superhuman body. He parried, and parried again, but he could land no counterstrike and was forced back up the stairs.
A blow flung his arm wide. He never saw the blade that cut him coming.
A cold kiss across his throat, followed by searing agony. Arterial blood sprayed from his ruined neck. He clamped his hand to the wound, but it gaped beneath armoured fingers, and the blood would not stop. Poison crawled in where his blood flooded out. Already it affected him, numbing his lips first and making his eyes heavy. With supreme effort, Roboute Guilliman raised the Gladius Incandor for the last time.
'How?' he mouthed. His vocal cords were severed. Blood spilled from his mouth in place of words.
'I see the mark of Kor Phaeron's athame.' Fulgrim swayed as he approached. 'He could never turn you, but the cut he inflicted is a scar on the warp that could never heal. It is as great a weakness as your rectitude.' Fulgrim smiled with lips coated in poison paint. 'Or I should say was. Here the Avenging Son meets his end.'
He smashed at Guilliman's sword so hard it flew from his limp grip into the heaving battle. Fulgrim raised his swords for the killing strike. 'Say hello to father for me.'
A storm of fire blasted down the stairs, bolt-rounds streaking by, followed by burning streams of plasma. Fulgrim screeched. The unearthly field that shielded him shrieked and flickered, splitting his image. He screamed as a blaze of incandescent gas pierced his protection and burned his side.
'The primarch! To the primarch!' roared Captain Andros in anguish.
Guilliman sank to his knees, unable to speak. His perceptions became fragmentary. Warriors in blue threw themselves at the reeling daemon prince, only to be carved up into red chunks in in mid-air.
His sons tossed their lives away to spare a few drops of his blood.
Names and faces flashed through his mind, so many bold and honourable men cast down by betrayal. His brothers unwittingly corrupted or undone by personal failing. Others slain. His sons, dying in battle. So many of his sons…
 
The fight pretty much ends there with the marines taking Guilliman to safety but not in time to save his life.
 
Dayum son. That was pretty ******' great.

"'Join with me,' said Fulgrim seductively. 'You must be tired of all this strife. We can bring an end to war, and revel together in sweet excess for all eternity. I can show you things, pleasures, you would never have dreamed existed."

^And that was pretty ******' gay.

Those together make this an 11/10, overall.
 
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