"Kill them all! Purge them in flame!" the Princeps Maximus shouted as the Dies Vindicta fire his plasma destructers and the Apocalypse missile launchers, immediately destroy two Reavers.
"Find me another engine," the Princeps Maximus growled to his Moderati Primus.
The Machine Spirit's fury coursed through the manifold, bleeding into his own thoughts. It demanded battle. It demanded annihilation.
It hungered.
Around the Warmaster, only destruction left behind.
The wreckage of three traitor Titans littered the battlefield, their twisted carcasses burning amidst rivers of molten adamantium. Hundreds of Death Guard, Dark Skitarii, and daemons had been caught in the overlapping detonations, their corrupted forms reduced to ash beneath the Warmaster's overwhelming firepower.
The colossal Titan strode through the inferno without slowing.
Its void shields shimmered brilliantly as stray lascannon beams, missiles, and battle cannon shells burst harmlessly against the crackling barrier.
Every footfall crushed ruined buildings and shattered war machines beneath thousands of tonnes of adamantium.
With the arrival of the new Titans, the offensive of the Astartes began anew.
The pressure that had once been holding them back was gone.
The Fire Hawks and Angels of Wrath surged forward once more, their renewed assault supported by the thunderous advance of Legio Argentum Fulgur.
The might of the two Chapters' First Companies was displayed in all its glory.
The Terminators moved like an unstoppable wall of ceramite.
Even the daemons of Nurgle found themselves unable to withstand such overwhelming might.
Storm bolters unleashed endless volleys of mass-reactive shells.
Assault cannons roared, tearing through ranks of Plaguebearers and reducing their diseased forms to clouds of unnatural vapor.
Heavy flamers bathed the battlefield in burning promethium, cleansing the foul creatures with purifying fire.
The daemonic horde advanced in countless numbers, but almost none were able to reach the Terminator lines.
Those that survived the storm of fire soon discovered that reaching the enemy was only the beginning.
The moment the Plaguebearers entered close combat, the First Companies unleashed their true strength.
Thunder hammers descended like falling meteors, crushing daemonic bodies and dispersing their corrupted essence in explosions of Warp energy.
Lightning claws tore through diseased flesh and rusted armor alike, shredding the servants of Nurgle before they could bring their plague-infested blades to bear.
Slowly, the Astartes pushed closer to the center of the madness—the source of the Warp corruption and the reason the Plaguebearers continued to manifest within realspace.
The battlefield was changing.
What had once been an uncertain battle for survival had become a relentless Imperial advance.
One by one, the Titans of Legio Mortis began to fall.
The arrival of Legio Argentum Fulgur had transformed the Titan engagement from a desperate struggle into an execution.
The corrupted God-Machines that had once dominated the battlefield were now being hunted.
Some were destroyed by overwhelming firepower, their void shields collapsing beneath combined barrages before plasma beams and volcano cannon shots tore them apart.
Others attempted to retreat, only to be pursued and destroyed by the relentless advance of the Silver Lightning.
The war horns of Legio Mortis, once symbols of terror, became fewer and fewer.
Their echoes were replaced by the thunderous advance of loyalist engines.
Below the Titans, the Astartes continued their assault.
Every defensive line established by the traitors was broken.
Every barricade was destroyed.
Every attempt to delay the Imperial advance ended with more Death Guard and Dark Skitarii corpses scattered across the ruins.
Yet the closer they came to the altar, the stronger the Warp became.
Reality itself began to twist.
The air grew heavy with corruption.
The ground beneath their feet pulsed like something alive.
The green light in the distance expanded, reaching higher into the sky as the ritual approached completion.
Then—
A sound echoed across the battlefield.
A laughter.
Not a roar of triumph.
Not the cry of a warrior celebrating victory.
It was a laughter that crawled through the mind rather than the ears.
Every soul who heard it understood the same thing.
This was not the laughter of a friend.
It was not the laughter of an ally.
It was the laughter of something ancient, something cruel, and something that had been waiting patiently for this moment.
The Astartes immediately halted their advance for the briefest moment.
Not from fear.
But from realization.
Looking toward the towering column of green light, every warrior understood the same terrible truth.
They were too late.
The ritual had reached its final stage.
The Warp had already answered.
The emerald storm above the battlefield twisted violently as the boundaries between reality and the immaterium began to collapse. The air screamed. The ground cracked. The very fabric of existence warped beneath the presence of something attempting to enter the mortal realm.
Then—
A massive silhouette began to form within the green light.
At first, it was only a shadow.
Then a shape.
Then a towering figure whose presence alone caused the battlefield to tremble.
The Warp rift widened.
And something began to step through.
At the same moment, countless smaller forms poured from the breach.
Thousands upon thousands of Nurglings flooded into reality, spilling from the rift like a tide of corruption. They crawled, jumped, and swarmed across the battlefield, their twisted laughter joining the echo of their master's arrival.
The sound was almost joyful.
Almost playful.
Then, the silhouette reveal itself.
A towering shape emerged from the Warp rift, forcing reality itself to bend around its presence.
A Great Unclean One.
A Greater Daemon of Nurgle.
The massive creature stepped fully into realspace, its enormous form radiating decay and corruption. Its bloated body was a grotesque mockery of life, covered in diseased flesh, festering wounds, and countless signs of the blessings bestowed upon it by the Plague God.
The air itself seemed to rot around it.
The ground beneath its feet withered.
Even the flames burning across the battlefield weakened as the creature's presence spread.
The arrival of even a single Great Unclean One was enough to trigger immediate alarm across the Imperium.
Even the mere rumor of one appearing could push the Inquisition into overdrive, forcing Ordo Malleus agents to mobilize, astropathic warnings to be sent, and entire sectors to prepare for possible daemonic incursions.
Because this was not simply another enemy commander.
This was a fragment of a Chaos God made manifest.
A creature capable of turning entire worlds into plague-ridden graveyards.
A being that could corrupt armies, destroy civilizations, and transform once-thriving planets into monuments of decay.
And now, one stood upon the battlefield before them.
A war horn shattered the silence.
The mighty call of Dies Vindicta rolled across the battlefield, drowning out even the Great Unclean One's grotesque laughter.
The Warmaster Titan strode forward.
Each step shook the earth.
Without hesitation, its twin Suzerain-Class Plasma Destructors discharged.
Twin lances of incandescent plasma crossed the battlefield and slammed into the Great Unclean One.
The Greater Daemon raised its rusted blade in defiance as the blasts struck its bloated body. Corrupted flesh burst apart in fountains of diseased ichor, and the creature staggered several steps backward.
The battlefield came alive once more.
The hesitation vanished.
The God-Machines of Legio Argentum Fulgur resumed their advance.
Having destroyed or driven off the surviving Titans of Legio Mortis, the Warlords, Reavers, and Warbringer Nemesis shifted their fire toward the Greater Daemon.
Volcano Cannons erupted.
Belicosa Volcano Cannons carved blazing scars across the battlefield.
Sunfury Plasma Annihilators hurled miniature stars into the monster's diseased flesh.
Macro-gatling blasters unleashed storms of shells, while Apocalypse missile launchers filled the sky with countless contrails before descending upon the daemon in an earth-shattering barrage.
The Great Unclean One disappeared beneath fire and smoke.
Yet it did not fall.
Its booming laughter echoed from within the inferno.
The flames parted.
Its torn flesh bubbled and knitted itself together with horrifying speed as Nurgle's unnatural gifts mended wounds that should have slain any mortal creature many times over.
Seeing the daemon still standing, the Princeps Maximus did not falter.
"Keep firing!" he ordered as another salvo of Apocalypse missiles thundered from the carapace of Dies Vindicta. "Keep its attention on us!"
The Warmaster's twin Suzerain-Class Plasma Destructors fired once more, incandescent beams slamming into the Great Unclean One's bloated torso. Around the Princeps Maximus, the Titans of Legio Argentum Fulgur obeyed without hesitation.
Volcano Cannons roared.
Plasma annihilators unleashed miniature suns.
Macro-gatling blasters filled the air with thousands of armor-piercing shells.
The Greater Daemon disappeared beneath another storm of fire.
"Give the Astartes their opening!" the Princeps Maximus continued, his voice carrying across every loyalist vox-channel. "Hold the daemon here while they destroy the altar!"
"Your will!" came the unified reply from the Princeps of the Silver Lightning.
The God-Machines spread into a broad firing line, deliberately presenting themselves as the greatest threat upon the battlefield.
The tactic worked.
With an enraged bellow, the Great Unclean One turned its baleful gaze away from the advancing Space Marines and toward the towering Titans that continued to wound it.
Its rusted blade rose high.
A wave of virulent Warp energy erupted from the daemon, sweeping across the battlefield like a tidal wave of decay.
One of the advancing Reavers found itself directly in the daemon's path.
The Great Unclean One swung its colossal rusted blade.
The weapon crashed against the Titan's void shields.
For a brief instant, the shimmering barrier held.
Then the corruption carried by the daemon seeped into the energy field itself.
The void shields flickered violently.
Warning runes flooded the Princeps' command throne.
"Void shields collapsing!" the Moderati shouted.
The barrier overloaded in an instant.
The shimmering dome exploded into a cascade of emerald lightning, leaving the Reaver completely exposed.
The daemon's blade continued its arc unabated.
It bit deep into the Titan's torso.
Thousands of tonnes of corrupted metal sheared through adamantium plating.
The Reaver staggered as its entire left side was torn open, reactor conduits and plasma lines rupturing in showers of sparks and superheated vapor.
Inside the command throne, alarms screamed.
"We've suffered catastrophic structural damage!" the Moderati cried. "Primary reactor containment has been breached!"
The Princeps gritted his teeth, refusing to abandon the manifold.
"Keep her standing!"
The Reaver took another step.
Then another.
Its Machine Spirit roared in defiance despite its mortal wounds.
Across the vox, the Princeps Maximus witnessed the entire exchange.
"Away from its blade!" he commanded immediately. "Maintain range! Do not engage that daemon in close combat!"
Even a God-Machine could not hope to match the raw physical strength of a Greater Daemon of Nurgle once it reached striking distance.
"Circle it," the Princeps Maximus ordered. "Bleed it from afar."
The Silver Lightning obeyed.
The surviving Titans spread out, forcing the Great Unclean One to divide its attention as another devastating barrage of plasma, missiles, and volcano cannon fire descended upon the monstrous servant of Nurgle.
The heavily damaged Reaver immediately disengaged from the main battle.
With its void shields destroyed and its armor torn open, its Princeps knew remaining within the Greater Daemon's reach would only doom both Titan and crew.
"Fall back!" the Princeps ordered. "Maintain supporting fire!"
Lumbering away from the duel, the wounded God-Machine turned its remaining weapons toward the battlefield below.
Its macro-gatling blaster roared to life, unleashing torrents of heavy-calibre shells into the advancing ranks of Plaguebearers and Death Guard. Entire swathes of daemons simply ceased to exist beneath the barrage, while plague-ridden fortifications were reduced to clouds of rubble and diseased dust.
Moments later, the laser blaster joined the attack.
Brilliant lances of coherent energy speared through enemy strongpoints, vaporizing corrupted Skitarii and punching through the thick armor of Plague Marine formations that threatened to halt the Astartes' advance.
"Support the Space Marines," the Princeps commanded. "Keep the route to the altar open."
"Targeting solutions updated," his Moderati replied.
The wounded Reaver continued to walk, though every step caused warning alarms to flare across its command throne.
"Charge!" the Fire Hawks 8th Company Captain shouted.
His jump pack roared to life as he raised his weapon toward the traitor lines.
"Clear a path for the rest of our brothers!"
The command was immediately followed by the thunder of dozens of jump packs igniting.
The Captain and his command squad launched into the air, ascending above the ruined battlefield before descending upon the enemy like falling stars.
Following them, the entire 8th Company surged forward.
They ignited their jump packs in waves, turning the sky above the battlefield into a storm of burning trails and roaring engines.
They descended upon the Plaguebearers with righteous fury.
Chainswords screamed as they tore through daemonic flesh.
Bolt pistols fired at point-blank range, each shot sending Warp-tainted creatures back into the immaterium.
Power swords and thunder hammers struck with devastating force, crushing and banishing anything that stood before them.
The wounded Reaver's supporting fire made the assault possible.
Its macro-gatling blaster continued to roar, cutting down entire groups of daemons before they could surround the advancing Astartes.
Its laser blaster burned through corrupted fortifications, destroying positions that could have slowed the attack.
"Move! Move!" the Captain shouted through the vox as he landed among the enemy lines.
The impact alone crushed several Nurglings beneath his armored boots.
Around him, his command squad formed immediately, protecting their Captain as they carved a path toward the altar.
Seeing the path that being formed, the FIre Hawks 1st and 2nd companies with Garren at their head.
But the Angels of Wrath continued their advance under different circumstances.
Unlike the Fire Hawks, they did not have the support of a damaged Reaver providing direct fire support.
Instead, they relied on the weapons they had received from Dark Angels.
Among their ranks, the distinctive sound of Volkite weapons began to echo across the battlefield.
The Volkite Chargers unleashed beams of burning energy, cutting through the corrupted forces with devastating efficiency.
Unlike conventional bolter fire, the thermal rays of the Volkite weapons caused flesh to ignite from within, reducing plague-infested bodies to ash and denying the servants of Nurgle the chance to recover.
Dark Skitarii that had endured lasguns, bolters, and even heavy weapons found themselves consumed by the ancient technology.
Plague Marines that attempted to form defensive positions were overwhelmed as concentrated volleys of Volkite fire burned through their corrupted armor.
The Angels of Wrath advanced behind this storm of ancient weaponry, their veterans moving with the discipline of a Chapter that carried the traditions of the First Legion.
And so, both Chapters began to close the distance toward the altar.
But the closer they came, the more desperate the resistance became.
The number of Plague Marines increased exponentially.
What had once been scattered groups of corrupted warriors became an organize Astarte formation, emerging from the green light to block the Imperial advance.
Alongside them marched new horrors.
Beasts of Nurgle crawled across the battlefield, their massive forms leaving trails of corruption behind them. Their innocent-looking movements hid their true nature, as every creature they touched became infected by the blessings of the Plague God.
The battlefield itself had begun to die.
Too much time had passed.
The corruption spreading from the ritual had reached a critical point.
The surrounding land had already been transformed into a festering wasteland, and now the effects were spreading beyond the battlefield.
The air itself carried disease.
The soil rotted beneath their feet.
Reality had become thin enough that even more daemons continued to claw their way into existence.
Yet despite everything thrown against them, the Fire Hawks and Angels of Wrath continued forward.
They had reached the point where retreat was no longer possible.
The altar was within sight.
They only needed to reach it.
But the enemy refused to allow it.
Behind them, the battle between the Silver Lightning and the Great Unclean One continued.
The Greater Daemon proved to be a monster unlike anything they had faced before.
Even concentrated Titan fire struggled to bring it down.
One attempt had been made to divert one of the Warlords, allowing it to fire directly upon the altar.
The plan nearly succeeded.
The Titan's weapons had already locked onto the ritual site when the daemon noticed the threat.
The Great Unclean One moved with terrifying speed.
A wave of Nurglings flooded toward the God-Machine, climbing over its legs and swarming its feet like a living tide.
Thousands upon thousands of the creatures covered the Titan, attacking joints, weapon mounts, and exposed areas.
The Warlord's void shields collapsed under the combined assault.
Before the crew could recover, the Greater Daemon reached the Titan.
Its massive blade descended.
The final moments of the Warlord were lost beneath the roar of the battlefield.
As the battle threatened to descend into another slaughter, a new sound echoed across the battlefield.
Not a war horn.
Not an explosion.
A crackling.
White lightning tore through the air near the Fire Hawks' 8th Company, the Imperial force closest to the altar.
Reality fractured.
A teleportation portal opened.
From the storm of energy emerged warriors clad in silver and black armor.
The Grey Knights had arrived.
The legendary daemon hunters stepped onto the battlefield, their Nemesis weapons already drawn, their presence alone causing the Warp around them to recoil.
At their head stood Nexus.
He activated his Nemesis power sword, the blade igniting with blue-white energy.
He looked upon the endless hordes of daemons, the corrupted warriors of Chaos, and the impossible monstrosity towering in the distance.
For the first time in hours, the Imperial forces gained a new advantage.
"Finally," Nexus said.
His voice was calm.
Cold.
Absolute.
"Its time for you to perish."