Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

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The sound of communication was divine, a celestial harmony that seemed to cleanse the soul of every listener.

It resonated through the bridge, not merely as a voice, but as an ethereal melody that reached into the depths of the human spirit, washing away doubts and fears.

Saints were more than mortals; they were the embodiment of unwavering faith, the physical manifestation of the Emperor's will, and the radiant beacons of hope in humanity's darkest hours.

Their mere presence was a testament that mankind's hope was never truly extinguished.

Phikris and Sicarius exchanged brief glances, their expressions mirroring each other's awe. Veterans of countless battles, warriors who had faced the most terrifying horrors the galaxy could muster, and yet, the saint's voice still left them spellbound every time they heard it.

Despite having met the saint on multiple occasions, the feeling never diminished—it was as though their souls instinctively bowed before such divine purity.

"Open the void shield and allow boarding," came Guilliman's voice—calm, commanding, and resolute, like the voice of a god addressing his subjects.

As the subspace light flickered and shimmered, the bridge's atmosphere thickened with anticipation. A brilliant glow accompanied the arrival of the newcomers, their silhouettes forming against the radiant backdrop as they materialized within the control room.

Leading them was Celestine, the Living Saint, resplendent in her golden armor that gleamed like the very sun. Her pristine white wings extended behind her, each feather imbued with a soft, heavenly glow that seemed to repel the darkness.

Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back in silken waves, and her face—flawless and serene—radiated such nobility that it invoked reverence from all who gazed upon her. She was a being untouched by mortal sin, an icon of purity so profound that the mere thought of blasphemy in her presence felt like an unforgivable crime.

Behind her stood a towering figure clad in the formidable gray-white Terminator armor of the Grey Knights. He removed his helmet, revealing a scarred yet resolute face, weathered by countless battles against the most insidious of foes. A massive black greatsword, bound to his gauntleted hand by a heavy chain, rested at his side—a weapon both revered and feared.

"My lord," Celestine greeted with a graceful bow, her voice a soft melody amidst the mechanical hum of the bridge.

Guilliman, the Primarch of the Ultramarines, nodded in acknowledgment before shifting his gaze to the armored warrior behind her—a presence that radiated an aura distinct from that of any Space Marine.

"Let me introduce you," Celestine began, stepping aside to allow the two figures to face each other directly. "This is Crowe, the Champion of the Purifier Knights, a revered warrior of the Second Brotherhood of the Grey Knights. I encountered him while pursuing the traitor. He braved the tempestuous Warp storms to reach Ultramar, bearing a message of utmost importance."

Her words hung in the air as the room grew silent. The mention of the Grey Knights—a secretive and elite Chapter formed by the Emperor himself during the Horus Heresy—demanded unwavering attention.

Humanity's greatest and most eternal enemy was Chaos.

Those malevolent entities, the Ruinous Powers, did not merely seek annihilation—they craved corruption, enslavement, and endless torment. The Dark Gods yearned for a universe plunged into ceaseless madness, where every soul was but a puppet in their twisted play until the end of time itself.

To stand against such insidious foes, the Emperor forged the Grey Knights in secrecy, alongside Malcador the Sigillite. Eight founders, each possessing unwavering loyalty and unparalleled knowledge of the Warp, were chosen. Uncorrupted even after facing the most vile of daemons, these warriors laid the foundation for the Chapter.

Their gene-seed, untainted by any Primarch, formed the basis of a force unparalleled in its purity and purpose. Hidden on Titan, one of Saturn's cold moons, by the Emperor's immense psychic power during the Siege of Terra, the Grey Knights emerged after the dust of the Heresy settled, sworn to an eternal war against the daemonic.

The existence of the Grey Knights was shrouded in secrecy, unknown even to the highest echelons of the Imperium. Unlike the Inquisition's Ordo Malleus, whose presence often preceded preemptive measures, the arrival of the Grey Knights signaled that all control had already been lost.

Planets tainted by the Warp faced extermination—whether by mass purges or the devastating orbital bombardments that left nothing but ash in their wake. Yet, despite the immense power they wielded, what truly made the Grey Knights terrifying was their absolute loyalty. In a galaxy rife with betrayal, they stood unwavering, incorruptible.

"My lord," Crowe greeted, kneeling as the servos in his armor whirred softly. His armor, pristine and well-maintained, bore the sigils of his Brotherhood and the sacred wards of Titan.

"I am honored to meet a Grey Knight," Guilliman responded with a rare smile, his towering figure radiating both authority and benevolence. "I had thought your Chapter would have certain... reservations about meeting me."

His comment alluded to the Grey Knights stationed in Macragge, whom he had tasked with overseeing research into the unnatural forces—an assignment that was not without its tensions.

"The Grey Knights recognize the significance of your return, Primarch," Crowe replied, though his eyes betrayed a lingering uncertainty. He hesitated for a moment, as if grappling with unspoken words.

"Speak freely, Crowe," Guilliman urged, his tone reassuring.

"I see a lifeline entwined with daemonic influence upon you," Crowe confessed, his voice cautious. "Forgive my boldness, but... have you been marked by them?"

This ability to perceive lifelines—ethereal threads that connected beings to their fates—was Crowe's unique gift, enabling him to detect and exploit the vulnerabilities of daemons. 

Guilliman chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I have been marked for ten millennia, Crowe. They can neither corrupt me nor break me. There is no need for concern."

The Primarch stepped down from his throne, approaching Crowe. Even in his massive Terminator armor, Crowe had to tilt his head back to meet Guilliman's gaze.

"That sword you carry... it bears a presence most foul," Guilliman noted, his piercing eyes fixated on the greatsword.

Crowe unlatched the magnetic clamps and presented the weapon with both hands. The black blade, etched with twisted, malevolent patterns, seemed to pulsate with an insidious energy. Merely gazing upon it felt like inviting madness.

"This is the Cursed Black Sword, within which is imprisoned Antwyr, a daemon of unspeakable corruption. I am its custodian," Crowe explained.

As Guilliman grasped the hilt, the daemon's sinister whispers echoed in his mind. "Release me, and I shall grant you dominion over the stars. The galaxy shall kneel before your will."

Crowe stiffened, alarmed by the daemon's audacity. But Guilliman's expression remained composed.

"Begone from my mind, wretched creature," he commanded, his psychic will clashing with the daemon's presence. A bloodcurdling scream reverberated through the bridge as the daemon recoiled.

Even Crowe, accustomed to the sword's ceaseless whispers, was taken aback by the sudden silence that followed.

"These daemons are ever tiresome," Guilliman muttered, examining the blade's intricate patterns.

"Does it possess any unique abilities?" he inquired.

"I dare not wield its power, my lord," Crowe admitted.

"Let us see what secrets it holds," Guilliman declared, igniting the golden flames of the Emperor's Sword. The cursed blade writhed, its malevolent engravings shifting like vermin fleeing a blaze.

"Speak, daemon. Your knowledge shall buy your continued existence," Guilliman commanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

The bridge fell into a tense silence, awaiting the daemon's response.