The Space Marines on the balcony instantly went on high alert, their hands reaching and levelling their weapons.
"Seize him!" Guilliman commanded, his voice echoing over the roar of the crowds as he pointed a gauntleted finger at the Arch-Consul.
Before the mortal could even attempt to flinch or turn, Grand Master Voldus had already reacted with the blinding speed of a Grey Knight Veteran. His massive, blessed terminator gauntlet shot forward, clamping down with crushing force onto Agathone's shoulder, while he locked him down with his psychic powers.
The moment the psychic warden's holy, anti-warp-warded armour made contact with the robed dignitary's flesh, a horrific, high-pitched sizzle could be heard and smelled.
"Aaaahhhhhhh!"
The Arch-Consul let out a piercing, cursed shriek. The sound was mostly swallowed by the colossal, ocean-swell racket of the millions of citizens below, who were not yet entirely aware of the drama unfolding on the high balcony.
But to those on the platform, the transformation was sickeningly clear. Under Voldus's grip, the illusions that veiled the Arch-Consul began to violently unmake themselves, bubbling and burning away like cheap wax beneath a blowtorch.
The handsome, unblemished and noble features of the Arch-Consul melted, sliding down to reveal a misshapen, mutant thing.
The Grey Knights, Calgar, and the surrounding officers instinctively recoiled, their faces contorted in revulsion, understanding and anger. The creature trapped in Voldus's grip was a bulbous, deformed, fleshy abomination. Its skin was a pale, sickening violet, wet with a foul-smelling fluid. It roared and thrashed, its joints bending at impossible, horrifying angles.
Around its thick, blubbery neck, suspended by a crude thong of cured human skin, hung a glowing, pulsing pink amulet.
As Guilliman stared in absolute hatred at the cursed thing, a sudden, mocking voice hissed directly inside his mind.
Guilliman knew this voice; he knew it well and remembered the one it belonged to, as if it had been yesterday.
It was a smooth voice, made of silk-and-poison rhythm that he wished he wouldn't have ever had to hear since the fateful, disastrous encounter on the fields of Thessala 10,000 years ago.
~~Welcome back to your beloved Imperium, dearest brother~~
Fulgrim's voice purred directly into Guilliman's ear, dripping with cruel, decadent amusement, frustration and hatred all at once. It was filled with all the emotions that defined the Demon Primarch of Slaanesh, and it sickened the G-man.
Guilliman's jaw clenched so tightly his teeth threatened to shatter.
"Fulgrim."
~~Did you truly think your return would go uncelebrated?~~
The Daemon Primarch's voice laughed, the sound echoing like a chorus of mocking sirens that seemed to derive pleasure from somewhere.
~~I buried a tiny, beautiful fragment of my own animus within that delightful little amulet my servant wears. I must admit, I am profoundly disappointed, Roboute. You rejected my gift. The Crown of Glories is such a beautiful thing. So many heroes, great and pure, have fallen so spectacularly to its sweet little promises. I had so desperately hoped I could corrupt you in the exact same fashion.~~
The mutant creature in Voldus's grip began to laugh, a wet, bubbling sound that perfectly mirrored the psychic voice echoing in Guilliman's head.
~~But do not fret, little lawmaker,~~ Fulgrim taunted, his laughter growing louder, sharper, trying to cut like a razor blade through Guilliman's sanity.
~~This is but the first of endless, delicious temptations you will face. Look at what your Imperium has become. Look at how they worship you. From this day forth, you will never be able to trust a single feeling of triumph again. Every victory will taste like ash. Every moment of self-satisfaction will make you wonder... is it real? Or am I merely wearing the crown again? Sleep well, bro--~~
"Alright, enough of that."
Gerhard's voice cut through the noise. He walked towards the Arch-Consul, whispering chants as he did.
[Mana Chains of Binding]
[Silence]
The gurgling and corrupted sounds ceased, and the figure was bound in chains that prevented it from moving a single muscle. The Grey Knights looked at Gerhard with their ultimate level of suspicion and alertness. They weren't sure what he was, and despite knowing what they felt when he had his [Blank] skill active, they couldn't quite believe it.
No one could do what he could do. So it made some sense.
Then, Gerhard started chanting again. He had had little time to practice and try to create new spells using Mana, but he had talked and trained with the Grey Knights and Voldus. From there, he had gotten inspiration and created Mana-powered spells that could do similar things.
[Suppression]
[Isolation]
[Silence]
[Mana Chains of Binding]
The amulet was wrapped and suppressed, and the power was nullified, leaving it ready for Gerhard to transport. He was not interested in diving too deeply into the Warp and what it could do, but he wasn't going to ignore things like this.
He would come across corrupted items or people more often now, and while he had a method of removing that corruption already, he wasn't going to demonstrate that here out in the open where Fulgrim and most likely Slaanesh could see it.
Gerhard calmly strolled over to the bound, violently twitching mutant, casually tossing the small, glowing chunk of suppressed pink glass to Hans, who was standing nearby. He glanced up at the Grey Knights and offered a slight, respectful nod.
Roboute Guilliman didn't move. His towering form was bathed in the harsh sunlight of Macragge; his face, carved from stone, was shown to all the Space Marines and the 'mortals' below.
The venomous whispers of his corrupted brother still echoed in the corners of his mind, but his mental fortitude and Gerhard's blunt intervention had snapped the spell. The Primarch's intellect seized control.
It was always done furtively, hidden from the wider Imperium. No one truly understood who or what they were fighting against. The Grey Knights had done the work and ensured it was hidden. But that wasn't going to work any longer. The cat was out of the bag now.
Fulgrim wanted him to hide this? Fulgrim wanted him to harbour doubt, to let the poison fester in secrecy?
No. The Avenging Son would turn this assassination attempt into a lesson in absolute, uncompromising truth.
Guilliman stepped forward. His massive, armoured fingers clamped around the thick, violet flesh of the mutant's neck. With a casual, terrifying display of his demigod strength, he hoisted the pained, multi-limbed abomination into the air for all to see.
He strode to the absolute edge of the gilded marble balcony, towering over the balustrade so that every single soul in the millions-strong crowd below could see him.
The change in the crowd was instantaneous.
The festive, joyous cheering faltered. The rhythmic chanting of his name stopped and died away, replaced by a sudden, freezing wave of confusion and, for those who knew, anger and disgust.
Millions of faces watched as their resurrected saviour, clad in the magnificent Armour of Fate, held aloft a writhing, sickening mass of purplish, deformed flesh that dripped foul ichor onto the pristine white banners of the palace.
The pict-cast drones moved closer, their lenses zooming in, broadcasting the grotesque reality to every large screen, tactical monitor, and hab-block across the entire world of Macragge.
Guilliman activated his armour's external vox-emitters. When he spoke, his voice sounded in the city like a new law, vibrating through the bones of every man, woman, and child.
"People of Ultramar! Citizens of the Imperium!" Guilliman's voice boomed, stripped of all political warmth, carrying only the hard truth. "Look upon this creature! Look closely at the thing that wore the robes of your Arch-Consul!"
A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the streets of the normal citizens like a wave. People fell to their knees, not in worship, but in confusion and fear. The Imperial Guard didn't react apart from showing disdain and disgust, while the Astartes didn't move a muscle.
"You believe the war is won because the skies above Macragge have cleared. You believe that walls of stone and iron are enough to keep you safe. But our enemy does not merely march with tanks and blades.
The Ruinous Powers of Chaos are a cancer of the soul! They infect the weak, they bribe the greedy, and they wear the faces of those you trust most! They spread lies and taunt you, gauding you to make a mistake and fall."
He shook the thrashing mutant violently, letting the crowd see its unnatural, backwards-bending joints and bubbling flesh.
"This abomination had been turned to corruption by a coward. A traitor who tried to kill me ten millennia ago. This happened to the Arch-Consul, someone of great importance and immense renown. Chaos wishes for you to hide in fear! It wishes for you to believe that the dark is absolute, and that doom is inevitable!"
Guilliman reached down, his hand wrapping around the hilt of the Emperor's Sword. He drew the blade slowly, and the ancient psycho-reactive blade ignited. A powerful, sun-bright gush of psychic, holy energy enveloped the balcony, casting away every shadow in the grand plaza.
The sheer, radiant heat of the blade made the air shimmer and heat up, its divine flame hungry to purge the souls of the damned and the energy of chaos.
"But I tell you this," Guilliman roared. "The age of hiding the truth is over! We will not cover our eyes in ignorance, nor will we falter in the face of their grotesque designs! Today, we do not just celebrate a single victory on Macragge. Today, we declare an unyielding, eternal war of extermination against the forces of Chaos!"
The millions below watched, transfixed, paralysed by the sheer majesty and terrifying clarity of the Primarch, the demigod wielding his father's sword and demonstrating his seemingly immeasurable might.
"We will hunt them in the dark! We will purge them from our courts, our hives, and our stars! For every world they burn, we shall reclaim ten! For every soul they corrupt, we shall deliver a thousand judgments of holy fire!"
"Let the dark gods look upon the Imperium and know that Humanity does not bow! We stand! We fight! And we shall strike fear into our enemies' hearts!"
With a lightning-fast sweep of his arm, Guilliman brought the blazing Sword of the Emperor down.
The psychic flame sheared through the mutant's body. The moment the psychic blade made contact, a blinding explosion of white divine energy erupted. The Anathema to Chaos properties of the mythical sword cascaded through the creature's biological and metaphysical form.
The mutant's very soul was utterly destroyed and permanently obliterated from existence, leaving nothing but harmless white ash that scattered into the wind over the heads of the crowd.
For a single, breathless second, the entire city of Magna Civitas was dead silent.
Then, a roar erupted.
It was not the soft, sycophantic cheering of a populace looking for a protector. It was a fierce, strong, bloodthirsty cry of a species that had just been given a grand purpose. One that was surely similar to what the Emperor had done in ages past.
Hundreds of thousands of Astartes' fists slammed against chestplates in the Imperial salute. The Imperial Guard joined the shouting and the chants.
"FOR THE PRIMARCH!"
"FOR THE EMPEROR!"
"DEATH TO THE TRAITORS!"
Guilliman stood at the railing, the burning sword held high, his armour reflecting the golden light of the holy fire. Behind him, Gerhard leaned against his pillar, looking out at the large crowd. A small, genuine smirk crossed his face as he watched the notifications pop up in his vision.
[Quest Update: The Clarion Call of Ultramar – Complete]
[Faction Morale: +50%]
[Civilian Productivity: +35% (Fanatical Zeal)]
"Not bad, Roboute," Gerhard muttered, turning back to his terminal to let his spreadsheets run the new, vastly improved numbers.
"Not bad at all. Now let's see how the rest of the galaxy likes the news."
"What are our plans, Master?" Hans asked.
"Well, Hans, I mean, we are going to liberate the entirety of Macragge System, so we might as well do it in style. Since the resources for the crusade are mostly done, I think we can indulge ourselves in a 'side' project."
"Oh, a 'side' project, yes. I think that would do nicely. Is it finally time to do the upgrades to Gustav?"
"Hehe, indeed. But I think we might as well go... bigger..."
"Bigger as in use what Chaos left behind?"
"Hehehe"
"Ohohoh..."
Some Ultramarines looked at the two, who had absolutely lost their minds. But they were used to eccentric personalities in the nobility of the Imperium, so that wasn't even the strangest thing.
They just hoped that Lord Gerhard wasn't going to lose his mind so soon. He was irreplaceable. Who could truly comprehend what Gerhard meant when he said they were going to go 'bigger'?