Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

The Plague Fleet's fearless defiance, vowing to resist the Imperium to the bitter end, could not alter their inevitable fate—defeat was imminent.

Commanding the Imperial Fleet was a Primarch himself, whose presence bolstered morale to unprecedented levels. Imperial officers remained vigilant, striving for perfection in their execution, eager not to squander the rare opportunity to impress their esteemed leader.

With superior numbers and renewed determination, the Imperial Fleet dwarfed the Plague Fleet, whose chaotic forces struggled to maintain cohesion. Internal conflicts plagued them, and as the battle raged on, they found themselves isolated and disorganized—fighting their own war rather than a unified one.

"Stay on course, eliminate their flagship, and secure victory," Guilliman commanded, his eyes locked onto the tactical projection of the enemy fleet. Amid the corrupted vessels, one colossal warship stood out—covered in filth and grotesque organic growths, pulsating with malign energy. Malicious, unnatural eyes glared from its corrupted hull, a manifestation of the Warp's twisted influence.

"Concentrate all power on the forward void shield. First and second combat groups, halt pursuit and encircle the enemy flanks. Lock onto their flagship—target and fire. Load all macro cannons, maximize lance arrays, and bring the prow batteries to full power!"

The bridge of Macragge's Glory erupted in a flurry of activity. Tech-priests, officers, and servitors executed Guilliman's commands with mechanical precision. On the lower decks, the tension was palpable.

Junior officers barked orders, their voices sharp as they whipped sluggish crew members into action. Heavy shells were hoisted onto artillery decks by industrial lifts, feeding the hungry macro cannons.

Mechanical priests tended to the labyrinthine energy conduits, their rhythmic binary chants seeking the blessings of the Machine God to ensure smooth operation.

With orders relayed, the Imperial Fleet surged forward in a final decisive strike. Guilliman's gaze remained fixed on the Chaos flagship, seeking a weakness in its formidable defenses.

The monstrous ship, stretching over twenty kilometers in length, was built to endure planetary bombardments. Its reinforced void shields flickered under sustained assault, protecting thick layers of armor that concealed its critical systems.

But Guilliman's sharp mind, processing vast streams of data in mere seconds, quickly identified a chink in the enemy's defenses—a flickering instability in the void shields near the pulse regulator.

"There!" Guilliman declared, swiftly marking the vulnerable coordinates on the tactical display. "Focus fire on these points."

Data-link commands spread across the fleet, confirmations flashing back in rapid succession.

"All ships have locked onto the target, my lord."

"Then fire—end this battle."

Like a tightening noose, the Imperial Fleet closed in. A relentless barrage of macro shells, torpedoes, and energy lances rained down upon the Chaos fleet. The flagship's shields flickered wildly under the intense bombardment before collapsing altogether.

Within moments, torpedoes and nuclear payloads struck the unprotected hull. The flagship lasted less than thirty seconds before a massive explosion tore through its spine, igniting its reactor in a cataclysmic fireball. A miniature sun engulfed the Chaos flagship in a blazing sphere of destruction.

On the bridge, Guilliman momentarily shielded his eyes as the observation deck's filters darkened to protect the crew from the blinding light. The flagship was no more, and the remaining Chaos vessels posed no significant threat.

"Breher, oversee the final mop-up operations," Guilliman ordered.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed across the bridge. Donas, the Librarian of the Dawn Star Chapter, clad in power armor, approached swiftly.

"My lord, we have detected abnormal energy fluctuations on the surface of Sara II. The veil between reality and the Warp is thinning. The Plague Marines are attempting to summon reinforcements."

Guilliman's expression darkened. He knew what such heretics were capable of—horrors beyond comprehension, capable of corrupting even the strongest minds. Their unholy rituals demanded pain, blood, and souls to bring daemonic entities into realspace.

"Prepare for planetary assault," Guilliman commanded. "We will cleanse the filth before it takes root."

Sara II – Outskirts of Glix Hive

In the shadow of the last human fortress, void shields shimmered defiantly against the encroaching darkness. Gurlo, the bloated Plague Lord, sneered at the sight.

"Stubborn fools," he growled. "They cling to their Corpse-Emperor, rejecting the loving gifts of Grandfather Nurgle."

Gurlo lumbered forward, his grotesquely swollen body barely contained within ancient, corrupted Terminator armor. Foul liquids seeped from its rusted joints, filling the air with a sickening stench.

His armor, once a relic of the Horus Heresy, now bore the taint of the Dark Mechanicum's foul blessings, far surpassing its original power. Centuries of decay had transformed it into an extension of Gurlo's own rotting flesh.

Around him, the Plague Marines stood in silence, their hulking forms exuding pestilence and death. Gurlo, the largest among them, addressed his diseased brethren with a voice thick with phlegm.

"The Father's generosity knows no bounds. He embraces all—rich or poor, healthy or diseased. Yet these blind fools reject his gifts and worship their false emperor."

His tone grew colder. "We have brought them salvation, yet they repay us with war. No more. We will breach their fortress, complete the ritual, and transform this world into our Father's garden."

With a wave of his diseased hand, the Plague Marines advanced, their corrupted weapons raised, ready to bring Nurgle's "blessings" to the Imperium's defenders.