Board Thread:Warhammer 40k General Discussion/@comment-6767898-20130227013545/@comment-6078851-20130408204015

As Guilliman opened his eyes for the first time in centuries, the blow of his former brother still fresh in his mind, his first sight of Macragge in the 41st millenium was one of destruction and nightmares. Bereft of any reasoning as to what was happening around him he did what any loyal son of the emperor would do and rose to the fight.

As a slathering vision of hell clambered over the bodies of it's slaughtered kin and the pile of fallen Ultramarines, who died protecting the tomb of their lord, Guilliman rose to meet this foul xeno that had besmirched the honour of his world.

With a fury he had rarely known he rose from his stasis-throne, trailing tendrils of equipment that had sustained him over the millenia, and as the Tyranid Warrior leapt upon this fresh victim it was met with crushing blow, a blow that would have shook a mountain. As the Primarch's fist landed upon the Warriors head, all his fury at what was happening around him and of the injustices of the long ago was channeled into one strike (which punched it's face clean off, like properly clean off, you should have seen it, it was epic), and this blow would have spawned new tales of heroism were it not for what happened after...

For the poison that fulgrim had visited upon him finally finished what it had started, and as he lay dying with his sons his final thought was, "that was like....POW!! clean off! I rule."