Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

Read 15 Chapters ahead on Patreon https://Patreon.com/rez540

--------

The arrival of the Guilliman fleet sent shockwaves through the hive city.

 Though the ruling families did their best to suppress the news, word still spread like wildfire. Workers, gang members, the lower classes, and even the homeless whispered about it in hushed excitement.

 The Great Son of the Emperor. The Holy Primarch. The God of War in Imperial legend.

Old stories, long embellished by time, resurfaced with renewed vigor.

For the first time in an age, it felt as if the Great Crusade had returned, as if the Emperor's light once again walked among mortals.

Merchants captured images of the magnificent fleet, sending them back to every hive. The sheer scale of the armada left all who saw it breathless.

This was power in its purest form. A force so immense that it could make entire systems tremble without firing a single shot.

Those lucky enough to receive permission eagerly steered their ships to join Guilliman's fleet, even if only for a short while. To sail in its wake was an honor grand enough to be recorded in family histories and passed down for generations.

Pilgrims from across the galaxy flocked to the hive, chanting Guilliman's name.

But their desperate pleas to board the Glory of Macragge were all denied.

The Primarch himself had declared that he would descend to the surface to honor the loyal servants of the Imperium.

The news ignited a frenzy among the populace. The Primarch would walk among them.

The noble houses—especially the Grouse family and their peers—scrambled to prepare.

They saw this as an opportunity, not a reckoning.

They would prove their loyalty, prove that their rule was beloved by the people.

There was no need for the Primarch's reforms. The existing system, they believed, was enough to preserve the Imperium's greatness.

Residential Area No. 2

"Out! You must clear this area before the Primarch arrives!"

The law enforcement officers kicked in Hawk's door. Before he could protest, they grabbed him by the collar and flung him onto the wet, filth-ridden street.

"Go find somewhere else to sleep—Zone 3, Zone 4, wherever. You can come back once the Primarch leaves."

Hawk staggered to his feet, his eyes burning with rage. "This is my home!"

"Stay back," one officer snapped, resting a hand on his sidearm. "Don't let your filth taint the Primarch's presence. Disobey, and I'll arrest you in the name of the Emperor."

They moved through the slums, breaking down doors, dragging out residents like garbage.

The Grouse family had already arranged a proper welcoming party—wealthy, obedient, and well-dressed.

It would be a grand show. A spectacle proving that under their rule, the people were prosperous, content, and grateful.

A blind old woman was thrown into the mud. She struggled to rise, her voice trembling with fury.

"You will be cursed for this! The Holy Emperor would never give such an order! Every citizen has the right to pay homage to the Primarch—it is our honor, our duty!"

The crowd murmured in agreement.

A bent figure hobbled forward on crutches—Madara, a war veteran.

He had once possessed mechanical limbs, but he had sold them long ago to survive.

If not for the news of Guilliman's arrival, he might have already ended his suffering.

But now, he had a reason to endure.

"We refuse to leave!" he declared, his voice hoarse but defiant.

A veteran dared to resist.

Others found courage in his stand.

One by one, they raised their voices in protest.

The law enforcers answered with raised weapons.

"This is a direct order from House Grouse. You will comply, or we will use force."

The lead officer's gaze swept over the crowd, searching for an example to make of them.

His eyes settled on Madara.

"You shouldn't have spoken, old fool."

Madara spat at his feet. "Damn the Grouse family! I fought for the Emperor, while they leech off his Imperium!"

"Then die for your foolishness."

The officer fired.

A burning lance of light pierced through Madara's leg.

He collapsed, screaming. The stench of seared flesh filled the air.

The crowd recoiled, their courage withering.

The officer smirked. "Who's next?"

No one met his eyes.

A figure pushed through the stunned onlookers—Hawk.

He dropped to his knees beside Madara, cradling the trembling veteran.

"Damn you!" Hawk spat. "He fought to protect you!"

The officer only sneered. "Then let him be loyal to House Grouse one last time."

Hive Capital Square

Lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the storm-lashed cityscape.

The great spire of the hive shuddered as thunder crashed, its circuits humming as they absorbed the storm's fury.

In the howling wind and pouring rain, the elite of the city stood waiting.

Their expensive cloaks were soaked, their bodies shivering in the cold, but their faces remained carefully composed.

At the head of the gathering, the Planetary Governor stood tall, his expression one of smug satisfaction.

His preparations were complete.

He would present House Grouse's achievements. He would prove that the noble class was indispensable. That reform was unnecessary.

Let the Primarch see for himself—under the stewardship of the aristocracy, the Imperium flourished.

Let the commoners toil. That was their purpose.

He turned his gaze skyward.

A flicker of light broke through the black clouds.

The distant hum of engines grew into a deafening roar.

Dozens of Stormbirds pierced the storm, their metallic hulls glistening under the lightning's glare.

At their center, three Thunderhawks descended, adorned in gold and battle-painted murals.

The Stormbirds remained aloft, circling like predatory birds.

The Thunderhawks touched down.

As their engines powered down, the airtight hatches hissed open.

A column of giants emerged.

Space Marines.

Towering figures, clad in ceramite armor, their visors gleaming coldly in the rain.

They took their positions, forming an immovable line.

Flags were unfurled—the sigils of Ultramar, the double-headed eagle of the Imperium.

The banners snapped in the stormwinds, defiant against the downpour.

Then, the music began.

Majestic.

Solemn.

The cherubs and servo-skulls fluttered into the storm, their mechanical voices rising above the wind.

"The Voice of the Emperor's Will, the Regent of the Imperium, the Lord of Ultramar, Master of the Imperial Senate—Guilliman, Son of the Emperor!"

The final Thunderhawk's ramp lowered with a clang.

A towering figure stepped forth, clad in armor that shone even in the storm's fury.

Roboute Guilliman.

His piercing gaze swept over the assembled nobles.

Then, his voice rumbled like the coming storm.

"I have come, traitors."

A single sentence.

And in that instant, every noble turned pale.