MTLNOVEL Chapter 17: chapter 17
Chapter 17: The Primarchs Debate
The Word Bearers had intended to launch a sneak attack, but instead, they found themselves on the defensive.
Explosive shells fired from the tower shattered windows and walls, striking with deadly precision at the helmets of the Word Bearers. The height advantage amplified the force of the blasts, making the counterattack even more difficult for the traitors.
Holding the high ground was a natural advantage, but the tower was far from safe. The Word Bearers' counterfire ripped through its relatively thin barriers, sending shrapnel and flames roaring through the structure.
Two mortal volunteers, caught in the barrage, were instantly reduced to mist and fragments. The force of the blast hurled their remains into the lower levels, where they were buried beneath rubble and steel.
Mortals were simply too fragile against weapons capable of killing Astartes. Even the slightest touch of such firepower meant near-certain death.
Deputy Selaton witnessed the carnage but had no time to mourn. He and his battle-brothers fell back, trying to maintain distance as the tower's structural integrity rapidly deteriorated under the relentless assault.
With a final, anguished groan, the tower collapsed.
A thick cloud of smoke and dust engulfed the battlefield, and the Ultramarines vanished into the ruins.
Had they been buried alive? Or had they escaped in time?
The Word Bearers' officer scanned the wreckage, his helmet's systems searching for any sign of movement.
Nearby, Ventanus lay beside a wounded battle-brother. The Marine's legs had been obliterated by an explosive blast. His armor had failed to protect him, leaving his lower limbs little more than charred ruin. Despite the grievous injuries, he remained alive, his enhanced physiology slowing the inevitable.
"I leave him to you, brothers," Ventanus said.
He was answered by the deafening roar of incoming missiles.
A coordinated Iron Hands strike rained down precisely at the designated coordinates.
Hundreds of micro-missiles screamed through the air, detonating upon impact with devastating force. Atomic fission released an inferno of energy, vaporizing the Word Bearers caught in the firestorm before they could even react.
The sheer firepower was overwhelming. Even a Titan-class war machine would have struggled to survive such a bombardment.
And this was exactly the kind of warfare the Iron Hands excelled at.
Sabik Wayland strode onto the battlefield, his armor still dusted with gunpowder residue. He and his warriors laughed—revenge, even in small doses, tempered their fury.
But not enough.
They wouldn't be satisfied until the traitors were completely annihilated. Until their master, Lorgar, was drowning in his own blood.
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The Battle in Space
In orbit, the carnage was even more brutal.
The Word Bearers' fleet continued to arrive at the outer edges of Calth's orbit, their engines primed and weapons already charged. Half of the Ultramarines' ships, caught unprepared, still had their engines offline.
The massacre was about to begin.
The False Emperor pivoted, bringing its full broadside to bear against the anchored Ultramarines' fleet. A relentless barrage of lance fire hammered the helpless warships.
Every salvo claimed another victim.
Ships without power, without void shields, unable to even return fire, were torn apart like dry leaves in a storm.
The Holy Salamance took a direct hit. Its hull fractured and detonated, breaking apart into burning debris.
From the bridge of his flagship, Guilliman watched it all unfold.
He stood rigid, his mind coldly cataloging each loss and every moment of resistance.
Their sacrifice was buying time. But not enough.
Faster. He needed them to move faster.
The Primarch clenched his fists, but outwardly, he remained a pillar of icy composure.
A new transmission came through—Lorgar's flagship was hailing him.
Guilliman accepted.
A hazy light flickered to life before him, forming Lorgar's illusory image. The Word Bearers' Primarch stood alone, his expression sunken, his face half-consumed by shadow.
"You damned beast!" Guilliman snarled before Lorgar could even speak. "How could I have ever believed you capable of redemption? You're no different from a rabid dog—only looking to sink your teeth deeper into the flesh of your prey!"
Lorgar raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Guilliman's reaction.
"My brother," Lorgar mused, "I expected you to demand an explanation. Perhaps even call for a ceasefire."
He had believed Guilliman's misplaced sense of brotherhood and guilt would make him hesitant, that he would hesitate to condemn him outright.
But weakness and guilt could be exploited.
Lion El'Jonson would never have shown such vulnerabilities.
Guilliman's voice was like steel. "Spare me your theatrics. It was you who unleashed the horrors of Chaos. You who brought this catastrophe. You who declared war on me. You who burned Calth and murdered my people."
Lorgar smirked. "I only regret not being more thorough when I burned your precious city. Your wretched statues and empty scriptures should have been reduced to dust. I even gave the Colchis people seven days to evacuate—I was merciful."
Guilliman's eyes darkened. Lorgar was lying. He always lied.
"You spineless worm," Guilliman sneered. "You abandoned the Emperor. You betrayed everything we built. You paraded your false faith like a child showing off a toy, but it was never faith—it was always about power. You're nothing more than a sycophant, groveling for the next master to leash you."
Lorgar's smirk vanished. His expression twisted in fury.
"How dare you insult my faith!"
Guilliman's relentless barrage of words had caught him off guard. He had planned to toy with his brother, to make Guilliman beg for understanding, to humiliate him and savor the moment.
But instead, it was he who stood on the defensive.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
In his mind, he had envisioned Guilliman desperately trying to reason with him, to appeal to their brotherhood, to remind him of their father's dream—only for Lorgar to spit in his face and proclaim his devotion to the Ruinous Powers.
But now, all his carefully rehearsed words were useless.
"Guilliman," Lorgar growled, "Calth is just the beginning. A sacrifice. The first step toward a new universe, a fairer order. The galaxy will burn, and our father will fall from his throne. His empire is crumbling. His dream is dead."
Guilliman stared back, his expression like unyielding stone.
"If that's what you believe," he said coldly, "then I'll see to it that you burn alongside it."
(End of Chapter)