Chapter 444: The Great Work of Belisarius Dora Cawl

Seth's words made Zhou Yun's lip twitch.

He felt that if Seth kept quoting scriptures like this, his own mouth would lose all meaning.

But Seth at least knew to lower his voice, speaking only to those right beside him, not challenging Guilliman's authority at this moment.

In fact, if the Primarchs hadn't had superhuman hearing, only Zhou Yun and Khaen would have heard.

But unfortunately, the Primarchs all had superhuman hearing—Sanguinius's lips curled into a faint smile, Guilliman's expression unchanged.

"What follows will dispel all your doubts," Guilliman emphasized with solemn, grave words.

Behind him, the massive doors groaned open, revealing an elliptical chamber beyond.

Zhou Yun saw figures within.

At least a hundred towering figures stood rigid in the sunken center of the elliptical space, like gladiators awaiting performance in an arena.

Guilliman strode forward with purpose, as if approaching a gift he had waited ten thousand years for—the Emperor's Ascension Day offering. The Imperial delegation, led by Zhou Yun and Sanguinius, followed closely behind.

Upon entering, Zhou Yun and the others heard a sharp, soaring horn blast—vivid, strange, and arresting.

Zhou Yun's lips tugged slightly; the horn's rhythm was unmistakably "The Doraemon Song," which he had previously used as a hymn.

A beam of light illuminated the delegation's path as a gravity platform descended from above, revealing the colossal form of the Archmagos Belisarius Dora Cawl—his body, vast as a beast, stood tall enough to meet the Primarchs' gaze.

He had just raised his metallic arms beneath his robe, like a conductor signaling the opening of a grand performance.

Extravagant, ornate, and unmistakably Belisarius Dora Cawl's style.

"Welcome, esteemed dignitaries of the Imperium!"

Cawl switched his vocal cords, softening his voice into something warm and gentle—perfect for a speaker. It seemed he had sampled Guilliman's voice data and deliberately mimicked him.

Most people held stereotypical views of the Magi of Mars, assuming they must be mechanical, cold, and ruthlessly rational.

In truth, many Mechanicus members did strive to become more machine-like.

But Cawl was different—he had once been a minority, firmly believing the Emperor was the Omnimessiah, and since the Omnimessiah had taken human form, humanity was the most perfect state of all machines, beings, and spirits.

Thus, Cawl had always refused cybernetic augmentation, taking pride in preserving his human body.

Only to fulfill the task given to him by Guilliman and the Emperor across ten thousand years had he been forced to transform himself into this inhuman, terrifying form.

Yet even now, Cawl's forceful, domineering, and fiercely self-aware soul still retained flexible, deeply human emotions within his mechanical shell.

Such as an intense sense of pride and a love for grandeur. Hmm—presumably, keeping a secret for ten thousand years had been somewhat painful for Cawl.

"And most especially welcome, my comrade, the offspring and perfect creation of the Omnimessiah, Lord Roboute Guilliman!"

Cawl raised his voice slightly, bowing deeply to Guilliman, emphasizing the words "my comrade."

"And equally welcome, Lord Sanguinius, brother to Roboute Guilliman, likewise offspring and perfect creation of the Omnimessiah."

Cawl bowed to Sanguinius with the same precise angle, then bowed even deeper to Zhou Yun:

"Most especially welcome and praised is your presence, the First Mover of the Cosmos, the primal force flowing within all beings, machines, and spirits—not a god, yet undiminished in your primordial power! Praise the Holy Doraemon!"

Cawl spoke with near-florid grandeur, yet when his single remaining eye fell upon Zhou Yun's mortal body, a fleeting shadow of sorrow passed through it.

Each time he saw the primal force embodied in a form so utterly mortal, Cawl's long-dead heart clenched in pain.

The Omnimessiah and the primal force both chose human form—proving Cawl's view from ten thousand years ago was correct: the human body was perfect.

Yet Cawl himself, to fulfill his duty, had been forced to huddle within this pitiful mechanical shell—it was truly…

Cawl took a deep breath, activating his internal hormone regulators to suppress his sorrow, refocusing his mind on his mission.

Ten thousand years of work were complete.

He had to present his creation to the world in glory—to Lord Guilliman, and to the Primal Force.

Belisarius Dora Cawl spun sharply, his metallic arm pointing behind him toward the hundred Astartes standing in the arena.

Bright, pale light illuminated the hundred Astartes.

They wore power armor with varied paint schemes—blue, red, yellow, purple—their gene-seed seemingly from different Legions.

They had clearly undergone rigorous training, standing in the arena with flawless uniformity, like a parade formation.

And if they shared one other trait, it was their excessive height.

For Astartes, they were far too tall.

Seth himself was tall among Astartes, yet among Cawl's display, he was slightly shorter.

This situation unsettled Seth.

Especially since some of these Astartes wore the Blood Angels' color scheme.

But Seth smelled no scent from them—the scent of Bloodlust, the scent of Black Rage—none at all.

"What did he do? What are these things?" Seth growled low: "Is he trying to replace us with these?"

Seth's fangs slightly bared.

Since Sanguinius's return, Bloodlust had been suppressed, and Black Rage had undergone a subtle change.

The incidence rate of Black Rage itself hadn't changed, but warriors who entered it now entered a strange state—their souls seemed linked to Sanguinius, as if they had become his incarnations: powerful, holy, unstoppable.

Black Rage was, at its core, the result of Sanguinius's descendants being affected by the resonance of Sanguinius's essence—his death—becoming a small part of his grand sacrifice, fused with him.

Now that Sanguinius had returned, the dark, profound aspect of his essence had been consumed by Zhou Yun; the darkness within Black Rage vanished, leaving only pure fusion and connection with Sanguinius.

Yet these new warriors carried no scent of Black Rage, no link to Sanguinius—and no Bloodlust either!

Not just Seth—several Ultramarines were also disturbed, and even non-Astartes humans grew anxious.

Sanguinius remained calm, and Zhou Yun was the same.

They both knew what these warriors were—Zhou Yun had even been awaiting their arrival.

Their appearance signaled the beginning of the Indomitus Crusade.

And as the Indomitus Crusade spread across the galaxy, it would drastically compress the operational space of Chaos forces, forcing traitors like Erebus into a shrinking perimeter.

Zhou Yun could then, with the Indomitus Crusade's support, swiftly hunt Erebus—not only for vengeance and punishment, but to pursue the galaxy's fate foretold by the Emperor.

After all, Erebus could now move freely across the galaxy; the scope was too vast. Zhou Yun had no interest in passively playing cat-and-mouse with him.

"Witness, all of you!"

Belisarius Dora Cawl proclaimed in a grand voice:

"Ten thousand years ago, Lord Roboute Guilliman entrusted me with a sacred challenge: to improve the Omnimessiah's creations, to iterate His angels of death."

"Now, I have fulfilled this mission. Before you stand the next generation of Death Angels—the iteration of the Astartes."

"They are stronger, more resilient, more agile, more loyal—and I have implanted three newly designed augmentative organs, correcting countless flaws."

Belisarius Dora Cawl laughed proudly at his creation:

"They are the Primaris Space Marines! Stronger, greater warriors!"

He paid no attention to the atmosphere.

A heavy, deathly silence settled over the Ultramarines and Blood Angels.

The Blood Angels fared better—their emotionality let them firmly believe their father would never abandon them.

But the Ultramarines, guided by reason, understood these Primaris Space Marines would inevitably replace them—it was only a matter of time.

Or rather, the Primaris were precisely what their gene-father had ordered ten thousand years ago: forged to replace them.

Bitterness spread through the Ultramarines' hearts, while the Blood Angels, seeking reassurance, edged slightly closer to Sanguinius.

Guilliman slightly furrowed his brow at Cawl—Cawl's words showed a distinct lack of political awareness.

True, the Primaris's emergence would inevitably stir resistance among the old Astartes, but Cawl should have spoken more cautiously.

Yet Cawl's bluntness wasn't without benefit—Guilliman could now position himself as a sympathizer to the old Astartes, smoothing the transition.

"Cawl, no more words—let us demonstrate these new warriors' capabilities," Guilliman raised his voice: "My Legion needs the finest warriors—just as fine and irreplaceable as my own!"

What a damned political monster. Zhou Yun silently muttered, watching Guilliman's words.

Cawl bowed deeply.

"My lord, I know many harbor hatred for my creations, seeing them as defilements of the Omnimessiah's works."

"But this is wrong—they are entirely derived from the Omnimessiah's creations, as an ancient Terra sage once said: I stand upon the shoulders of titans."

No, dear Archmagos Cawl—they aren't worried about that. Zhou Yun silently scoffed, continuing to watch Cawl unleash his theatrical flair.

"You shall soon witness the power of these Primaris Space Marines." With a wave of his hand, Cawl turned, and dozens of heavy combat servitors surged up in the arena.

The Primaris Space Marines lowered their ranged weapons and engaged the servitors in close combat, showcasing their full capabilities.

Zhou Yun watched the battle with keen interest, then couldn't help asking curiously beside him to Khaen and Seth:

"What do you think of these Primaris Space Marines?"

(End of Chapter)