[You and the Custodian carve forward together through the surging tide of Chaos daemons.]
[With every step, more Chaos Astartes or knots of daemons go down under your hands.]
[Behind you, the Ultramarines and Salamanders keep pace.]
[They have already taken heavy losses, but their heavy weapons fire covers Inquisitor Greyfax and the Eagle Legion as the advance continues.]
[The Leman Russ tanks and Land Raiders roar on dozens of engines, ammunition running low.]
[They surge forward anyway, faster now, deeper into the tide of daemons.]
[Weight and tracks do the rest, crushing daemon after daemon underfoot, buying breathing room for the mortals and Astartes taking the worst of the casualties around them.]
[The Mind Stone atop your skull helm never stops firing. The Psychic Ray cuts through the battlefield in continuous beams, precise as a blade, tearing through the daemons that keep coming.]
[Every swing of the Blood Scythe and Forgebreaker now carries a thread of gold flame, drawn from the burning Imperial banner at your back.]
[That fire is death to Chaos daemons in a way nothing else on this field is. It clears wide swaths of ground around you, and lets you and the Custodian cut down any Chaos Astartes bold enough to counterattack.]
[But the daemons keep coming, more of them now, not fewer.]
[Even with everything the two of you can do, your advance slows to a crawl.]
[You and the Custodian are forced to hold ground, weapons working without pause, just to keep the tide from closing over you both.]
[Behind you, the warriors who followed you here are paying for it.]
[The Ultramarines company is down to fewer than forty men, and more fall with every second.]
[Five Salamanders remain, still swinging their power hammers, still holding the heavy vehicles' flank against encirclement.]
[Outside the vehicles themselves, there is barely a living mortal left standing in the Eagle Legion.]
[Thud. Thud. Thud.]
[Then, through the flying limbs and the screaming of the daemon tide, you hear it. Heavy Astartes footfalls, accelerating, loud enough to cut through even the artillery.]
[A Black Templar strike force, Marshal Amalrich at its head, tears clean through the ring of daemons closing on you.]
[These Black Templars fight with a fanatic's certainty, faith burning as hot as anything in their power weapons.]
[They hack their way through daemon and the occasional Chaos Astartes alike, closing on your position with unstoppable momentum.]
[As the Black Templars come within a few hundred meters, threads of gold flame from the burning banner reach their power weapons too.]
[It shows immediately. Their killing efficiency climbs, fast and hard.]
[In the thick of it, still cutting your way through the daemon tide, you brush past Marshal Amalrich himself.]
[You tilt your skull helm toward him for half a second, then turn and fire another burst of the Psychic Ray past his shoulder.]
[Amalrich raises his power sword and roars, a sound that rolls out over the whole crowd around you.]
["Black Templars, No pity! No remorse! No fear!"]
[Every Astartes who hears it answers at once.]
[They pull in tight, forming a single assault formation with you at its center.]
[Without waiting, you push the whole formation forward, morale and killing power both climbing, straight into the daemon tide ahead.]
[Behind you, the last dozen heavy vehicles, under Inquisitor Greyfax's command, swing wide around the formation's edges, breaking up the daemons' attempts to flank you.]
[Not long after, the Bloodhowl Company and the Iron Wolves Company of the Space Wolves punch through the encirclement and reach your formation.]
[These Sons of Fenris feel the connection the moment they are close enough, and the howls that come out of them roll up into the sky.]
[Once the golden flame from the burning banner reaches their weapons too, the Space Wolves become as essential to the formation as anyone else in it.]
[This is what it means to be a Primarch here. As long as you stay standing and keep fighting, the warriors around you fight harder, and better, for it.]
[The assault formation grinds forward and breaks through the ring of daemons holding you in.]
[Following Marshal Amalrich's lead, you angle the formation and pick up speed, driving toward the Imperial lines.]
[Through your visor you catch it: a newly ascended Daemon Prince, Urkanthos, Lord of Destruction, flanked by Hounds of Abaddon.]
[You tighten your grip on the Blood Scythe, still slick with daemon blood, and Forgebreaker, lightning crackling along its head.]
[The propulsion system at your back kicks on.]
[You drop low and go, closing on the Daemon Prince at a speed no charge on foot could match.]
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