Guilliman's anger crackled in the air, a tangible force that left the representatives trembling.
Their opulent clothing did little to insulate them from the scorching heat of his wrath. Baffled by the sudden shift in mood, they stammered defenses.
"My Lord," the planetary governor, Kallima, croaked, his voice thick with a blend of fear and indignation.
"House Kallima has served the Imperium for three millennia! Our loyalty is unquestionable. Can you truly take away our rights so cruelly? Is this the reward the Empire bestows upon its loyal servants?"
Guilliman's voice thundered in response. "Loyalty? Look around you, man! Ten billion souls lie dead on this planet, and hundreds of millions more turned to the whispers of Chaos. I haven't stripped you of your title because you haven't rebelled, but that hardly constitutes a reward!"
A woman, emboldened by desperation, rose to her feet. "Our positions are hereditary rights granted by your father himself! You cannot dismiss us so arbitrarily."
Guilliman met her gaze with an icy stare. "Your titles stem from the authority of the Terra Senate, which ultimately speaks for the Emperor. And the first Terra Senate was my creation. My word is the law here." He paused, a grim reminder hanging in the air.
"The council your father established crumbled during the Horus Heresy. With the war's conclusion, the mantle of Regent fell upon me, and I have begun the arduous task of rebuilding the Terra Council."
"My Lord, we are your loyal servants!" the pleas echoed from several voices, their carefully constructed facade of deference cracking under the pressure.
Sicarius watched in dismay. Power, he observed, was a corrosive force, eroding respect, common sense, and breeding selfishness.
Here they were, the supposed leaders of this ravaged world, spitting resentment at their savior for daring to question their "rights." A single planet's governance could warp minds so readily.
He shuddered to imagine the lengths such individuals might go to protect their power over an entire sector, system, or even the Imperium itself.
A horrifying thought flickered across his mind: could one day see him forced to choose between the Imperium envisioned by Guilliman and the one defined by the self-serving Terra Council?
Sicarius knew Guilliman wouldn't bend to the whims of these antiquated forces. Since his awakening, the Primarch had made his disdain for the stagnant status quo abundantly clear.
He yearned for change, a desperate desire to yank humanity back from the abyss of ignorance and depravity it was teetering on.
But those who had lorded over the Imperium for millennia would not relinquish their control willingly. A clash of ideals, it seemed, was inevitable.
The representatives, their illusions of power shattered, left under a cloud of Guilliman's wrath. Sicarius, returning shortly after, approached the Primarch with a mixture of trepidation and respect.
"My Lord," he began, bowing his head, "I believe I've located someone who might meet your criteria. Unfortunately, the plague has taken its toll, and he is nearing his end.
A personal visit is out of the question. Would you be willing to travel to the makeshift hospital?"
After a moment of deliberation, Guilliman rose. "Lead the way," he commanded.
The Primarch's appearance sent a wave of ecstatic fervor through the populace of Sara. People surged towards the steel barrier established by the honor guard, their voices a chorus of cheers for Guilliman and the Emperor.
Many wept openly, overcome with gratitude for their deliverance from the nightmare. Some, their faith bordering on fanaticism, prostrated themselves on the ground where the Primarch had walked, offering tearful thanks.
"Madness," Guilliman murmured, his voice barely audible above the din.
"Indeed, my Lord," Sicarius replied. "Their emotions run high."
Guilliman sighed. "If my father were to witness this display... such zealotry was never his way. He valued logic and reason, even in the face of the most fervent beliefs."
Sicarius, having no firsthand experience of the Emperor's reign, remained silent. The Emperor, a figure shrouded in myth and legend, was a mystery to him.
Inside the makeshift hospital, the sight of the Primarch lifted the spirits of both the wounded soldiers and the civilian patients.
"You have all conducted yourselves with valor," Guilliman declared, his voice booming through the sterile wards.
"Your defense of this planet served as a powerful blow against the arrogance of Chaos. Without your courage, this victory would have come at a far steeper cost."
His words resonated with the patients, a surge of pride flushing their faces. Recognition from a Primarch was an honor beyond measure.
Many soldiers, their eyes gleaming with newfound zeal, silently vowed to continue serving the Imperium until their dying breaths.
Guilliman, ever the pragmatist, even allowed a soldier with a bandaged leg the privilege of grasping one of his armored fingers.
The soldier, overwhelmed by the gesture, dissolved into tears, his loyalty to the Primarch solidified.
Basking in the adulation of the crowd, Guilliman strode towards the innermost ward. There, on a sterile cot, lay a loyalist of the Imperium, his body ravaged by the plague's relentless march.
The rhythmic beeping of medical equipment provided a somber counterpoint to the celebratory atmosphere outside.
Jie'an lay on his cot, his body a ravaged landscape of festering pustules – a grotesque testament to the plague's merciless grip. He bore no external wounds, the disease having waged war from within.
"This is Colonel Jie'an," a doctor at Guilliman's side explained, "commander of the Third Security Regiment and defender of Sara. When his superiors abandoned their post, he, a mere colonel, took it upon himself to lead the defense."
" Without his initiative, Sara wouldn't have held out for as long as it did. Unfortunately, the battle ravaged his internal organs beyond repair."
Guilliman ducked into the ward, the stench assaulting his senses like a physical blow. A repugnant mix of rotted fruit and decaying fish filled the air, but the Primarch was unconcerned. His transhuman physiology rendered him immune to such earthly maladies.
"Colonel Jie'an," Guilliman boomed, his voice a low rumble in the confined space. Pity colored his tone as he addressed the dying hero. Here was a man who had given his all for Sara, only to be rewarded with a slow, agonizing demise.
An injustice, Guilliman thought, a stark reminder of the cruel disparity between the sacrifices of the loyal and the self-serving opulence of the cowardly elite.
Jie'an struggled to lift his eyelids, managing a weak turn of his head towards the Primarch. His face, swollen and pockmarked with boils, stretched into a semblance of a smile.
"Lord Primarch? Is it truly you? The Emperor has blessed me by sending you to a dying man."
"No, Colonel," Guilliman corrected gently, "you are the hero of the Imperium. Sara Star shall be adorned with your statues, your story etched in its history. Your deeds will be sung for generations to come."
"But... I failed," Jiean rasped, his voice laced with despair.
"So many perished under my watch. I should have protected them, protected this world. Without your arrival, all would have been for naught." A tremor ran through his voice, a blend of self-recrimination and awe at Guilliman's intervention.
"You bought us precious time, Colonel. Without your resistance, Sara would have become a plague-ridden husk by the time we arrived. You slowed their advance, creating the opportunity for their annihilation. And for that, in the name of the Imperium's regent, I grant you the Imperial Medal of Honor."
Tears welled up in Jiean's eyes. "Thank you, Primarch. This is the greatest honor..." His voice choked with emotion.
"Is there anything else you require?" Guilliman inquired.
"The Emperor's Mercy, Primarch," Jiean pleaded, his eyes locked on Guilliman's face with a desperate intensity.
"I feel my insides rotting away, the pain... it's relentless, gnawing at my soul. It tempts me to seek solace in the darkness..."
The raw vulnerability in Jiean's gaze was a plea impossible to ignore. He had achieved his final wish, receiving recognition from the Primarch himself. Now, it was time for his ordeal to end.
He wouldn't succumb to the torment, wouldn't surrender his soul to the whispers of Chaos. His loyalty remained unwavering – to humanity, to the Imperium, and to the Emperor.
Guilliman met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded solemnly. "If that is your final desire, Colonel, then it shall be granted."
Patreon
