Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 264 - 265 – Magnus: Everything Is Going According to Plan!
Chapter 264 - 265 – Magnus: Everything Is Going According to Plan!
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On the Moon's desolate surface:
Scattered lance beams rained down, leaving massive craters in the ground.
Boom—
A colossal warship, aflame, tilted as it crashed into the surface, erupting into a giant fireball.
In orbit:
More explosions lit up space like dazzling fireworks.
The Pilgrimage Fleet and the Chaos warband of the Thousand Sons rained fire upon each other, relentlessly.
Lances, torpedoes, and macro cannons filled nearly every inch of the void.
Yet it was clear the Pilgrimage Fleet was at a disadvantage, falling back steadily, as more and more Thousand Sons warships translated in from the Warp.
...
Aboard the Macragge's Honor:
On the bridge, Guilliman surveyed the furious battle with a deep frown.
There was no doubt this was the carefully prepared ambush by his fallen brother Magnus and the Thousand Sons.
All the clues and events thus far converged in the Primarch's mind like interlocking links in a chain:
Magnus's trap—drawing the Pilgrimage Fleet into the Maelstrom—had not been to destroy them outright but to weaken them.
The Crimson King had planned out this route for the Emperor's Thirteenth Son long in advance, foreseeing how events would unfold afterward.
The Pilgrimage Fleet would face Chaos attacks, Guilliman would be captured, yet he would inevitably be rescued, then proceed to Holy Terra through the Webway.
And Magnus had waited precisely for this moment—to leverage the Webway's portal to invade Holy Terra, aiming to cripple the Imperium at its very core.
It was an overt scheme that Guilliman could do nothing about. Even knowing this, he had no choice but to keep moving along that path—otherwise, he would be drowned under the endless Chaos pursuit.
Fortunately, there had been a subtle shift in events.
With aid from the Shadowseer, and by using a more concealed Webway passage, the Pilgrimage Fleet had shifted the battleground to the Moon.
Now, there was at least a chance to turn the tide.
All the fleet needed to do was hold the line and await reinforcements.
Guilliman stared at the hololithic strategic map, his hands moving ceaselessly across the tactical sphere, so quickly they left behind only afterimages.
With each manipulation, diagrams and predictive data on the hololith rapidly flashed by.
He absorbed a massive amount of information, extracting exactly what he needed to reconstruct the true state of the battlefield.
It was an extraordinarily complex calculation—far beyond what most could fathom.
Thankfully, a Primarch's mind could handle such complexity. His brain was comparable to a full "cogitation array."
Suddenly, Guilliman paused.
He pointed to a single spot on the projection, indicating one particular warship.
Its void shield was flickering, its power system unstable.
That was a vulnerability.
At once, Guilliman issued a command via the strategic system: "Fifth Battle Group, turn ninety degrees to starboard—fill that gap in the line!"
Shortly after the order went out, in the battle above the Moon, a cruiser's void shields failed and the enemy's concentrated fire struck.
Its hull was savaged by powerful barrages; under lunar gravity, the wounded cruiser fell planetward.
This collapse triggered a chain reaction, and other warships struggled to withstand ever more intense bombardment.
The defensive line at that point showed signs of crumbling.
Thankfully, the Fifth Battle Group arrived in time, filling the gap and shoring up the defensive line once again.
When Guilliman received word of this, he breathed a sigh of relief.
They had held, for the moment.
But being so heavily outnumbered, without further reinforcements, that line could not last long.
"Where are Holy Terra's reinforcements? When will they arrive?"
The communications officer immediately reported, "My lord, they're still mobilizing; we don't have an exact time of arrival..."
"How slow and incompetent can they possibly be!" Guilliman snapped in anger.
He had expected sluggishness from Terra's archaic bureaucracy, but not to this extreme.
Were this the era of the Great Crusade, Imperial support would already have arrived to engage the enemy.
The Primarch's anger cast silence over the command center.
Suddenly, the communications officer exclaimed in surprise and delight:
"My lord, we have incoming reinforcements!
From the transmissions, they're a fleet belonging to the Rogue Trader House Govindi.
They detected signs of war and came immediately to support us!"
At that, Guilliman checked the tactical sphere, indeed spotting a fleet arriving at the edge of the battlefield.
It was a small formation—one cruiser and two escorts.
Still, for a band of wandering merchants, that was quite respectable.
It seemed they really had come to help.
Rogue Traders often appear on battlefields selling ammunition and supplies to Imperial forces.
Sometimes, they would even take on contracts to join the fighting directly.
Guilliman pulled up additional data, revealing the sensor images of that fleet, noting its distinct heraldry—a golden corsair skull affixed with the Imperial Aquila.
"Rogue Trader House Govindi of the 'Imperial Bloodline Merchants'?"
He sifted through his memory. Most "Imperial Bloodline" Rogue Traders could trace their origins to ten thousand years ago.
If they were authentic, he should recall them.
Instantly, Guilliman found what he was looking for: indeed, there was a "Govindi" Rogue Trader House in his memory.
House Govindi had received a Warrant of Trade from his father, then gone off to develop territories on the Imperium's frontier.
"Patch House Govindi's communications through!" Guilliman ordered.
Though only a small fleet, things were critical—every bit of help had to be mustered.
At the moment the holo-communication was connected, a stirring hymn to the Emperor resounded throughout the command center—pious and uplifting.
The officers paused, listening almost reverently.
(This was a quirk of the Savior's faction: broadcasting hymns before battle for morale. Even if they might not be the strongest, their zeal and loyalty could never be doubted.)
After a few seconds, the hymn faded into background music.
Then Shahim's half-length image appeared in the hall, and one could see how excited he was at witnessing the legendary Primarch.
He spoke his prepared lines:
"My lord, I am Shahim, heir of House Govindi. On behalf of our family, I offer you our highest respect!
We have come bearing our loyalty to the Emperor, ready to fight for Holy Terra at any cost.
Please, tell us how we can serve in this righteous war!"
Watching Shahim's spirited bearing, Guilliman was genuinely moved. It had been a long time since he'd seen a Rogue Trader with such fervor and devotion.
In his recollections, Rogue Traders were greedy and cunning, treading many a moral gray area and flouting laws at will.
During a drawn-out war, they might even hold the Imperium ransom, selling munitions at multiple times the usual price.
As for sacrificing all for the Emperor? Unheard of.
A part of Guilliman's mind quickly concluded that this young man called Shahim was worth cultivating—Imperial Bloodline Rogue Traders could be useful in many ways.
Moreover, there were so few left of them these days.
A faint smile creased the Primarch's lips. "Lord Shahim, your loyalty and courage are admirable. The Imperium needs merchants like you.
We welcome your participation and look forward to seeing your prowess in battle!"
With those few words of approval, Guilliman integrated House Govindi's fleet into the war's command structure.
He assigned them to a safer part of the line, where the enemy attack was less intense.
After all, it was just a small fleet. Having them hold a moderate level of pressure would be enough.
If he dispatched them to the battle's center, they might be torn apart almost immediately, which could undermine the defensive line.
Plus, Guilliman had no wish to see a loyal and brave Imperial Bloodline heir squandered on the battlefield so quickly.
Soon, Guilliman put the matter out of mind, resuming his battle command.
...
Lunar Battlefield
Aboard the Govindi, on the bridge:
Shahim had just contacted the Great Savior. The response he received was:
"Little Shah, you're the fleet's commander now. It's time for you to grow on your own—do whatever you see fit!"
At last, Shahim understood why his peers often said the Savior preferred to delegate authority.
Perhaps he really had no desire to micromanage.
Shahim eagerly rubbed his hands together. "All those years in the Naval Academy, now I finally have the chance to step onto a real battlefield and command!"
Though it was his first time leading in a conflict of this scale, he was well acquainted with how it worked.
In the Naval Academy, they had used Webby's psychic network for years of war simulations—often based on classic battles.
Moreover, they were extremely challenging scenarios, simulating all sorts of extreme conditions with tremendously powerful enemy forces.
More often than not, cadets didn't last long, but they gained a wealth of tactical experience.
Shahim studied the hololithic display, with its markings for enemy vessels and weapon systems, plus highlighted points of interest—void shield energy percentages, incoming missile velocities, projected impact zones, and so forth.
Semi-autonomous programs ran most of it, requiring only a commander's final judgment.
His fleet's assignment was straightforward: hold off a single Chaos cruiser ahead.
Guilliman didn't have high expectations for them.
Boom, boom, boom—
The ship trembled slightly. The Thousand Sons warship's barrage pounded their void shields.
Fortunately, the Govindi boasted dual void shields, so the assault did minimal damage.
Moments later, Shahim ordered a counterattack.
Over a dozen bright lance beams struck the enemy cruiser, shaking its shields violently.
In just one volley, they depleted a quarter of the foe's void shields and even destroyed two escort ships.
"That damned merchant ship is armed with relic-grade weapons!"
The Chaos commander aboard the Thousand Sons vessel raged.
But before he could react further, that "merchant ship" began charging up again. Its recharge was incredibly fast!
...
On the Govindi's bridge:
"Huh, that Chaos ship is weaker than I expected..."
Shahim smirked. It was much less formidable than the opponents he'd faced in the Naval Academy's training.
There, the simulation system threw every extreme scenario at them, artificially boosting enemy prowess.
Typically, cadets couldn't hold out for long. But the experience shaped them into better commanders.
Now, with a stronger void shield and power system, the Govindi could fully unleash her relic-grade naval weapon—the Starlight Lance.
These poorly maintained Chaos vessels were hardly a threat.
"Concentrate all fire—take it down!"
There wasn't much call for fancy tactics. Sheer power would do the job.
...
Aboard the Macragge's Honor:
On the bridge, Guilliman—focused on the main engagement—noticed something unusual on the periphery of the battlefield.
Had House Govindi's fleet already wiped out their opponent?
He pulled up the data for an explanation.
Indeed, that trader ship was equipped with multiple relic-grade weapons, plus some xenos technology.
Guilliman saw no reason for alarm—Rogue Traders often cobbled together various ancient or xenos devices to outfit their ships.
That House Govindi had so many relics and xenos tech was proof of their considerable strength.
Such a formidable vessel was precisely what he needed right now.
So Guilliman reassigned the Govindi fleet closer to the center to handle more enemy pressure, alleviating the strain on his lines.
Sure enough, their arrival eased the burden on the left flank.
Guilliman could sense that the young man named Shahim possessed remarkable command skills, like a veteran commander.
Perhaps only a time-honored Imperial Bloodline Rogue Trader household could cultivate such an outstanding heir.
Even so, the Primarch remained anxious:
"Let's hope the reinforcements from Holy Terra arrive soon, or this situation might collapse entirely..."
He estimated they could hold for maybe another half hour at best.
The Moon was extremely close to Holy Terra—surely even an incompetent commander could respond in time.
Desperate to end the fight quickly, he knew the longer it dragged on, the greater the danger.
He feared Magnus was brewing something far more terrible.
Rumble, rumble—
Violent spatial tremors demanded everyone's attention.
In the void, a colossal Tizca Pyramid materialized, almost rivaling a battleship in size.
That ancient sorcery construct was Magnus's personal citadel.
Boom!
The Tizca Pyramid descended onto the lunar surface, casting up a sky-blotting storm of dust and gravel—winds roared like tidal waves!
Bang—
A surge of pure, raging Warp energy struck the ground.
Dark power gathered at an alarming rate, coalescing into a vortex of baleful, chaotic flames.
Suddenly, even the Pilgrimage Fleet's Space Marines felt an indescribable dread.
Reeking of preternatural oppression, a towering monstrosity stepped onto the Moon.
With a ghastly horned visage and wings spread wide, the crimson-hued Magnus exuded a horrifying aura that rippled across all.
He tilted his head slightly, gazing into the void, wearing a vicious smile.
On the Macragge's Honor, a terrifying presence flooded the bridge; the fallen Thousand Sons Primarch's projection appeared.
Even though it was only a hologram, everyone felt their hearts gripped, nearly stopping.
At the sight of Magnus, Guilliman realized the battle had abruptly escalated to its climax.
He had to stop Magnus before his fallen brother did anything worse!
Boom—
The Macragge's Honor unleashed a full broadside at the Tizca Pyramid, only for it to be blocked by a shimmering sorcerous barrier.
They could not break through it in the short term.
Before long, the Macragge's Honor ceased its barrage and returned to holding the line.
It had merely been a test of the enemy's defenses.
Their Primarch had already gone forth to face the Crimson King!
Under covering fire, Guilliman led Space Marines and heavy-armored squads onto the lunar surface, punching through the sorcery barrier.
There, Magnus stood alone, calmly awaiting Guilliman and his forces, utterly unafraid.
As Guilliman and the Pilgrimage forces drew near, Magnus finally moved.
With but a single syllable, he caused three Ultramarines Dreadnoughts to implode.
A gesture of his hand sent a Land Raider tank soaring, skimming the ground like a massive shell, carving a bloody swath through the Adeptus Mechanicus lines.
A sweep of his blade-staff tore open the veil between reality and the Warp, summoning hordes of daemons surging toward the Pilgrimage force.
Such was the terror wrought by a truly powerful sorcerer.
"Magnus, face me!"
Guilliman roared, cutting down daemons left and right with the Emperor's Sword, charging toward the Crimson King.
"As you wish, Roboute," Magnus sneered, eyeing the onrushing Guilliman with a mocking glint.
"I'm right here, no doubt about it. By the way, I don't recall you being quite so... short."
"Even after ten thousand years, you haven't learned to temper your arrogance..."
Guilliman hacked off a daemon's head and stepped up to the demonic figure of his fallen Primarch-brother, his expression grim.
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"You have grown taller indeed—but far uglier. I doubt your days have been pleasant."
Magnus sneered. "You remain as short-sighted and self-important as ever. That's why you'll never measure up to me. Observe—"
He lifted his staff, letting the tangled Chaos energies bound to it swirl into view.
"This is true power!"
"All I see is your cowardice and debasement!"
Guilliman shook his head sadly. "Is this why you willingly sank into corruption and shamelessly knelt before self-proclaimed gods?
If Father saw all this..."
"That false Emperor... He sees nothing anymore!"
Magnus erupted in fury, roaring:
"Do you know why I've let you come this far? Because here, you will meet the most tragic fate.
I want you to witness, with your own eyes, your precious Imperium and everything you hold dear reduced to ashes!"
Magnus's laughter thundered.
Though he had become a slave to Chaos, he had gained immense psychic power in the bargain—he was the Sorcerer King in the truest sense.
He could even grasp the elusive strands of "destiny," foreseeing developments and taking measures accordingly.
Not long ago, Magnus had discovered a new path in fate and changed his plan.
He now prepared an even grander "gift" for Guilliman and Holy Terra.
At this moment, he had clearly foreseen Guilliman's miserable doom—here and now!
Magnus slammed his staff on the ground. Countless sorcerous runes surged across the lunar soil.
Buzz—
Behind him, the Tizca Pyramid roared to life, the spatial turbulence intensifying.
Magnus's tone was eerily calm, as though he were stating a fact: "Holy Terra will be destroyed today—this is destiny!"
As the Tizca Pyramid lit up, Guilliman's heart pounded—he'd never felt such a profound sense of crisis.
What was Magnus trying to do?
Suddenly, a shrill cry from the Shadowseer came through the vox.
The Webway's protective wards were under assault!
The fallen Primarch intended to tear open a fresh Webway rift on the Moon using the pyramid's sorcerous machinery.
Moreover, the Crimson King had experience doing just that—his chances of success were high.
If a Webway rift formed, hordes of Chaos daemons would flood into Holy Terra with impunity, spelling doom for the Throneworld.
"Magnus!"
Guilliman's eyes burned with raging fury. He raised the Emperor's Sword, slashing at the Daemon Primarch.
Magnus's pupils shrank—he sensed the blade's terrible flames, capable of inflicting wounds that would not easily heal.
But he only curled his lips into a sneer. "Too bad, you've already stepped into my trap!"
Beneath the Tizca Pyramid's aegis, Magnus's sorcery was unstoppable.
Newly manifested glyphs bound Guilliman's feet temporarily.
Then, Magnus raised a hand and clenched his fist; nearby wreckage—hundreds of tons of scrap metal—ripped free from a crashed hull.
Boom—
Enormous chunks of steel hammered Guilliman like artillery shells, smashing him into a crater several kilometers away.
The Tizca Pyramid shone even brighter, making the Webway quake more violently.
Witnessing the Primarch's plight, the warriors beset by daemons fell into despair.
"Such wonderful terror..." Magnus reveled in it.
Now, no one could stand in his way.
Everything was going according to plan!
(End of Chapter)
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