Chapter Forty-Seven: Thirteenth Lord, Reinforcements Have Arrived

The Imperial Truth had barely emerged through the Gate of Euphoria into the solar system when it was detected by the Imperial Navy fleet stationed at the gate. Several Imperial warships immediately surrounded the Imperial Truth. If it weren’t for the Imperial Aquila emblazoned upon the ship, those warships would have already unleashed their macro-cannons and lance batteries upon it.

“This is the Imperial Sword, battlecruiser of the Imperial Navy. Identify yourself at once, or we will destroy your vessel without hesitation.”

The Navy was the first to open communications with the Imperial Truth. In these days of the Great Rift and the looming apocalypse of the galaxy, a ship suddenly emerging at the Gate of Euphoria was a cause for grave suspicion.

The Imperial Truth received the transmission from the Imperial Sword and patched through a video signal. In an instant, Wang Ming’s face appeared on every screen across the surrounding Imperial warships.

“I am a Primarch, son of the God-Emperor. In this hour of the Imperium’s greatest peril, I have come to the heart of the Imperium—holy Terra—to offer my aid.” Wang Ming, holding a prepared speech, addressed the Imperial Navy.

The moment his words rang out, everyone aboard the Imperial warships was stunned. A Primarch, son of the God-Emperor, had returned to holy Terra—news so shocking it defied belief.

After a period of identity verification and careful scrutiny, the Imperial Truth, escorted by several Imperial warships, set course for the resplendent throne world of mankind: Terra.

Luna—or the Moon—Terra’s only natural satellite, has, since the dawn of humanity, been the subject of countless legends and myths. Poets and artists have dedicated innumerable works to it, and many faiths have ascribed mystical significance to its pale visage.

Once, it was home to the genetic research centers of the Human Federation during the Golden Age. Later, in the Age of Strife, it fell under the thrall of gene-cults. Only when the Emperor unified Terra and ended the Age of Strife was Luna reclaimed by the Seventh, Thirteenth, and Sixteenth Legions of the Adeptus Astartes. In the time of the Great Crusade, it became a principal forge for the creation of Space Marines.

Now, upon the surface of the moon, war raged. Guilliman’s Terran Expeditionary Force had traversed the Eldar webway to Luna. The Expeditionary Force and its allies were locked in battle with the Thousand Sons, who had pursued them through the webway.

Amidst the wreckage of a colossal starship, Guilliman faced the Daemon Primarch Magnus in single combat—a clash of titans beyond the reach of mortal or Astartes alike.

“Magnus! I know you are not so easily slain! Come out and face me!” Guilliman’s voice thundered through the hollowed grave of the ship, echoing off steel and void. Even in the vacuum, he knew Magnus would hear him.

Guilliman was well aware that if Magnus struck from the shadows with sorcery, he would not survive. He had to force Magnus into open confrontation.

“Hehehe… As you wish, my dear brother Roboute—I am here, in the flesh.” No sooner had Guilliman finished speaking than he heard Magnus’s mocking laughter from above.

“You remain as arrogant as ever. Ten thousand years have passed, and you have yet to master your pride.” Guilliman raised the Sword of the Emperor, fixing Magnus with a steely gaze.

“You always reach too high and see too little. That is why you will never surpass me. Look at me—this is true power!” Magnus unfurled his wings, his entire form ablaze with the corrupt light of the Warp, displaying the full, terrible might of his ascended daemonhood.

“You call this power? All I see is corruption and bondage. What makes you embrace such degradation?” Guilliman retorted, eyes fixed on Magnus’s daemonic form.

“Still trying to stall for time? It’s futile. Perhaps today I shall not reach our father’s throne, but whoever comes to the Imperium now will find only your corpses.” Magnus did not answer Guilliman's question, instead exposing his true intent.

Realizing he could delay Magnus no longer, Guilliman hefted the Emperor’s sword and prepared to fight on.

“Is that so? I’m just terrified.” Suddenly, an incongruous voice echoed in both their ears; for Guilliman, it sounded directly through his helmet’s comms. After a moment’s thought, he recognized the speaker: the newly arrived gene-brother, Wang Ming.

Magnus, attuned to the warp, sensed the voice’s origin—through a rent in the hull nearby. Three figures entered through the breach, the first a magnificent man wielding a great golden sword. Magnus instantly recognized him as a Primarch, though not one familiar to him.

Yet the two companions at his side—those, Magnus knew all too well.