At the boundary between the Tempestus and Ultima Segmentums, psychic ripples surged heavily across a Mandeville point within a remote system. Moments later, a massive Imperial fleet materialized in the seemingly deserted expanse.
"My Lord, our fleet has lost three more warships," the crusade fleet commander reported to Guilliman. "I fear they were consumed by the Warp tides."
"Understood," Guilliman replied calmly, revealing not a trace of emotion. Though he pitied the fate of those ships, he could not show even the slightest hint of wavering at this juncture.
Throughout their passage through the Warp, terrifying pressure tormented every living soul without pause.
The Primarch knew that within the crusade fleet, everyone's nerves were stretched to the breaking point. The Astartes kept their hands clamped on their weapons, bracing for potential Chaos incursions at any moment.
Meanwhile, the mortal Auxilia drilled incessantly. Prolonged anxiety robbed them of sleep, leaving some suffering from nausea, diarrhea, and cognitive decline. The poor Navigators frequently collapsed into screams and agonizing groans under the relentless churning of the Warp.
As the sole leader capable of stabilizing the situation, he could not afford to display emotion. Absolute calm and cold rationality were all he could permit himself to show.
"Have the Astropaths prepare to contact the nearest Imperial worlds. Scour every piece of noteworthy intelligence," Guilliman instructed the fleet commander with practiced composure.
"As you command, my Lord." The commander bowed respectfully and stepped out of the room.
Silence reclaimed the chamber once more. Guilliman closed the ancient tome resting on his desk. It was a book containing a wealth of useful information, and he had tolerated the discomfort long enough to read through it.
Until the author once again called for his rivals to publicly sacrifice themselves, Guilliman could no longer endure such ignorant ramblings. He tossed the book onto a nearby shelf and washed the mold from his hands.
Stepping out of his quarters, the Primarch headed toward the command deck. During this brief respite for the fleet, he intended to confer with the Astropaths and other key personnel to evaluate their current standing.
Suddenly, shipwide alarm klaxons blared. Across the corridors, crew members and warriors burst into a frantic run.
Guilliman's brow furrowed. He stopped an Ultramarine in his tracks and demanded, "What has occurred?"
"My Lord, the Geller field generator aboard the 'Pride of Hera' has been infected by the Gellerpox!" the Ultramarine answered immediately. "The minions of Chaos have breached realspace. Lord Alexei has already taken men to handle it, and we are on our way to reinforce them."
"Very well. I understand. See to it that you reinforce them at once," Guilliman said with a firm nod.
"It is my honor, my Lord." The Ultramarine offered a crisp salute and rushed toward the launch bays to assemble.
Guilliman felt no deep anxiety over the matter. Whether in tactical command or individual martial prowess, the Governor of Aiur stood in a league of his own among mortals. Guilliman had personally witnessed the man engage an Honor Guard in a non-lethal duel and emerge victorious.
The Primarch had found it almost unbelievable at the time. To earn a place in his Honor Guard meant a warrior's combat prowess and seniority were absolute elite among his battle-brothers; no ordinary mortal—nor even a standard Astartes—should have been his match.
When Guilliman had approached him to discuss the matter, the answer he received had caught the Primarch off guard. Alexei claimed he had encountered the Emperor in a dream, and that the Emperor had bestowed a critical mission upon him.
At the thought of this, Guilliman's expression grew complex once more. Had his father truly ascended into a deity? Had he truly deceived his own sons?
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to shelve these troubling thoughts before they could destabilize his focus. Guilliman quickened his pace; he needed to assess the current status swiftly so the fleet could set sail again. Time was running short.
---
Aboard the 'Pride of Hera', inside the corridor leading to the Geller field generator, Alexei's void-projection was cutting a swath of destruction with a master-crafted power sword—a weapon he had won in a duel against an Honor Guard.
It proved far sharper and finer than the mortal blade his true body had previously used. Hordes of Nurgle Plaguebearers surged toward them like pus oozing from a ruptured wound, while the mortal Auxilia behind Alexei poured down a relentless barrage of suppressive fire.
Inquisitor Diana stood composed behind him, firing her bolt pistol with practiced precision. Everyone present found their morale soaring at the sight of the matchless warrior leading the charge; the presence of such a powerhouse empowered them to face the repulsive Warp horrors with courage.
They were not alone. Down the warship's main thoroughfares, Astartes led by High Marshal Helbrecht of the Black Templars cut straight into the deep interior, accompanied by the Sisters of Battle as everyone moved at top speed to quell the disaster.
Alexei's void-projection exerted a natural suppression over the Warp. The disgusting Nurgle daemons grew visibly weakened around him—their hides lost their resilience, their hazardous contagions ceased to be lethal, and standard gunfire proved enough to finish them off.
His figure swept through the grotesque host like a tempest. Alexei relished the thrill of cutting through the ranks like grain before a scythe. No daemon could stand in his presence for a second second, and he didn't even need to draw upon the power of the C'tan.
"Keep up! Move!" Inquisitor Diana shouted to the squad. The killing efficiency of the entire unit couldn't match the solitary figure ahead, whose movements were accelerating until no one could track his motion.
A few moments later, the corridor was completely cleared of daemons, leaving only his back visible to the stunned mortal Auxilia. "I swear, that lord is braver than any Angel of the Emperor I've ever seen," an old veteran muttered to his comrade.
"What are you standing around for? Keep up!" Alexei called back, glancing at the silent squad before tightening his grip on his longsword and pushing onward.
Diana paused briefly before shouting again, "Quickly! Didn't you hear him? Keep up!"
Alexei led the squad into the lower deck's Geller field chamber. They were the very first strike team to arrive, beating even the Sisters of Battle and the Astartes.
The generator ahead was enveloped in twisted, writhing biomass, filling the entire room with a sickening stench. "Flamers!" Alexei ordered, calling over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir!" Although the mortal Auxilia harbored doubts about whether their weapons could cleanse the horrific biomass, they obeyed the man's command without hesitation.
Alexei remained silent, watching their movements. "Very good. Mission accomplished." He harbored no concern about any Warp corruption lingering in the corrupted flesh—in his presence, it was nothing more than a pile of decaying meat.
Flames roared, reducing the twisting biomass to ashes amidst silent wails. As the rest of the warriors arrived one by one, they took in the sight of the burning flesh and the Governor of Aiur standing nearby.
"Gentlemen, I'm afraid you're a bit late," Alexei said with a smile to the stunned Astartes and Battle Sisters. "You can bring the Tech-Priests in for repairs now. The battle is over."
With that, Alexei sheathed his sword behind his back and walked out of the room.