The strongest astral army in Warhammer 40K

Calgar stood in the center of the strategic conference hall, his power gauntlets gripped tightly, his blue and white armor gleaming coldly under the lights. His gaze swept over the "Apocalypse Project," his brow furrowing, before finally settling on Guilliman.

“My lord, I oppose this plan.” Calgar’s voice was low but firm. “Russell has already sacrificed too much for the Empire; his psionic powers are tearing his soul apart. We cannot sacrifice him for the sake of creating weapons.”

The conference hall was silent. The high-ranking commanders of the Ultramarines exchanged glances, while the representatives of the Blood Angels remained silent. Guilliman sat at the end of the long table, his hands clasped to his lips, his gaze calmly fixed on Calgar.

“Calga,” Killieman’s voice was steady and gentle, “I understand your concerns. But tell me—what do you think of the Empire’s current state?”

Karga didn't hesitate: "Warspace storms are raging, the Tyranids are approaching the galactic core, the Orcs are growing stronger, the pressure on the 'Unbreakable Line' is increasing daily, and the Necromancer dynasty is awakening on a massive scale."

“So,” Guilliman slowly rose to his feet, a holographic projection unfolding behind him, displaying a map of the Empire’s territory—countless red markers representing worlds that had fallen or were on the verge of falling—“how long do you think we can hold out?”

Calga remained silent.

Guilliman continued, “Russell is indeed the chosen one, but this isn’t a fate we imposed on him; it’s a path he chose himself. His psionic energy resonates with the fragments of the Star Gods, and his will is strong enough to resist the corruption of Chaos. If we don’t seize this opportunity, the Empire might not even survive the next millennium.”

Russell stood to the side, the holographic star map reflected in his golden pupils. He gently placed a hand on Karga's shoulder: "Lord Karga, this is not a sacrifice, but a responsibility. Just as you were willing to go through fire and water for Macragge, I am willing to risk everything for the Empire."

Calgarh's gaze darted between Russell and Guilliman. Finally, he took a deep breath and knelt on one knee. "If this is your decision, sir, I obey. But I beg—let me personally oversee the experiment to ensure Russell's safety."

Guilliman nodded. "Granted."

…………

In Baal's underground testing grounds, Russell stood on the central altar, the Blood Drinker before him, golden psionic energy surging like a tide. Calgar personally oversaw the adjustment of the gene seed, while Guilliman stood on the observation platform, his gaze solemn.

“Let’s begin,” Russell said in a low voice.

The moment the psionic energy was injected, the entire testing ground was engulfed in blinding golden light. Under Russell's psionic influence, the genetic seeds of the super angel warriors began to transform, and new warriors were taking shape in the incubation chambers—their pupils glowed with a pale gold, and pseudo-star god power flowed within them.

Guilliman's prosthetic eye recorded every data fluctuation: "Success..."

Dante stood beside him, his voice, hidden behind the Blood Mask, tinged with complex emotions: "I hope we won't regret this."

Guilliman did not answer, but simply gazed at Russell within the golden light. The young man's figure appeared and disappeared amidst the energy storm, as if he might vanish at any moment, yet his resolve remained unwavering.

As the first rays of dawn touched the horizon above Baal, the first warriors of the Dawnhammer emerged from their incubation chambers. Their gazes were resolute, their power immense, and Russell stood before them, the Blood Drinker raised high:

"For the Emperor! For the Empire!"

The soldiers responded in unison: "For the dawn!"

…………

Carleon's white wings drew sharp arcs across the training ground as his power sword, "Judgment," slashed towards his opponent with the force of thunder. The Dawnhammer warrior standing opposite him—codenamed "Morning Star"—simply raised his arm, his blue wings fluttering slightly, and with almost precognitive precision, deflected the attack.

"Again!" Carrion roared, his sword suddenly accelerating, twelve afterimages simultaneously slashing at Morning Star's vital points.

Morning Star's blue wings suddenly unfurled, his four-meter-tall body leaving a trail of afterimages in the air. His powered gauntlets precisely gripped Carrion's blade, while his other hand pressed against the Super Angel's chest.

"boom--!"

Carleon was thrown back by a tremendous force, his feet carving two deep furrows in the ground. His feathers scattered, while Morning Star remained standing, his breathing perfectly steady.

The warriors watching around the training ground fell into a deathly silence. The Super Angels exchanged bewildered glances, while the warriors of Dawnhammer remained as silent as iron.

“I have lost.” Carrion sheathed his power sword, his voice devoid of resentment, only scrutiny. “Your power… is not merely a physical suppression.”

Morningstar nodded slightly: "Our genetic sequence incorporates the 'pseudo-star god' characteristics of Lord Russell's psionic energy, giving us a natural resistance to warp energy." He pointed to his pale golden pupils, "Your combat skills far surpass mine, but every attack carries the psionic fluctuations of Saint Gilles' blood—which is precisely what we counter."

Guilliman stood atop the platform, his prosthetic eye recording every detail of the battle. Mephisto's psionic vessel hovered nearby, its crystal surface displaying complex streams of data.

“More successful than expected,” Killieman whispered, “but at a price…”

His gaze shifted to Russell at the heart of the testing grounds. The young man was kneeling on one knee, the Blood Drinker before him, golden psionic energy connecting every Dawnhammer warrior like threads. The tips of his hair were visibly fading, gradually turning the same pale gold as his pupils.

Dante's Blood Mask emitted a soft hum: "His psionic materialization is accelerating. At this rate, it will take at most three months..."

“He will become a complete energy entity,” Guilliman continued, his voice heavy, “but there’s no turning back.”

An emergency communication suddenly popped up on the holographic projection, flashing a blinding red light: the message that the main Tyranid fleet had broken through the "unbreakable defense line".

…………

In the dead of night at the Tomb of Saint Gilles, Russell stood alone before the statue of the Emperor. His palms had become translucent, and the golden psionic energy flowing within them was faintly visible.

"Was it worth it?" Carrion's voice came from behind. The super angel's wings still bore the scars of battle.

Russell didn't turn around: "Have you seen the Tyranids' devouring trail? They tear apart a planet's crust like peeling fruit." His fingertips lightly touched the base of the Emperor statue, where the names of those who died in the final battle were engraved. "If my choice could save one more world..."

“Then I will personally raise the flag for you.” Carrion suddenly knelt on one knee, his power sword plunging into the ground. “But please allow me to continue my challenge against the Dawnbreakers—the Superangels must find a way to defeat them.”

As the first rays of morning light shone through the stained-glass window, they illuminated a smile on Russell's lips: "Then let's fight again tomorrow."

Beneath their feet, deep within the core of Baal, a sealed "Fragment of the Star God" suddenly flickered—like a sleeping behemoth blinking in its dream.