Ultramarines: A Warhammer 40,000 Movie

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Move, Nidon. Move!

Brother Nidon, report to the Chapel...

Guard the Codex!

I must protect the relic

in the Emperor's Holy name.

I must protect the relic.

I must protect the relic...

It is the forty-first millennium.

In the grim darkness of the far future,

there is only war.

The Emperor of Mankind

wages a constant battle

to protect humanity

from the horrors of space.

On the fringes of the lmperium,

alien races lurk and plot,

and Chaos daemons leak into our reality

from the torment of the Warp.

All that stands in their way

are the mighty Space Marines.

They are more than mortal.

They are steel and they are doom.

They are the champions of Mankind.

And the greatest of them all

are the Ultramarines.

Chaos breaks men's souls.

Chaos brings the pestilence of daemons.

Every time we march from

our beloved fortress home on Macragge...

we march to face down Chaos...

and banish it.

Do you think you're ready to do that,

Proteus?

Yes, Captain. I do.

Do you yield to me, Captain Severus?

Remove your helm!

Yield to me!

You fight well, Proteus.

Do you yield to me?

Victory is mine, Proteus.

We never yield.

You must be steel.

You must be doom.

You must use everything you've got.

Chaos has no honor.

Close in!

No more drills, no more practice.

You are about to receive the honor

of going into combat for the first time

as Ultramarines.

- Brother Pythol.

- Captain Severus.

You shall make your battle pledges

upon this sacred warhammer.

This hallowed weapon has fought

in the hands of our greatest veterans,

it has slain alien beasts and daemons alike.

One day you may be worthy enough

to wield it.

Until then you may kneel before it.

We march for Macragge.

And we shall know no fear!

Sergeant Crastor.

Look to your battle gear

and it will protect you.

We guard it with our lives.

As your armor guards your life.

As it has - my fallen brethren.

Honor the craft of death.

We serve only the Emperor.

Honor the battle gear of the dead.

We ask only to serve.

So, a shooting war, you think?

A real one this time?

Maybe, Verenor,

if the Emperor is smiling on us.

Pray that he is.

My belly growls for a taste of actual combat.

Any word of the drop?

Probably just another false alarm,

brother Hypax.

- Like Algol.

- Algol.

There wasn't even a scrap of glory

for us there.

So eager to die?

Glory is a two-edged blade.

You shy away from combat, Pythol?

Oh, Proteus...

You novices are all alike.

And I'm the one

who has to put you back together.

It isn't combat I resent, brother,

it's the thirst for glory

that gets men cut to ribbons.

Look at you.

You all look so very fine,

and I do not doubt the fire in your hearts,

but you do not yet know war as I do.

Well, with respect, that is why we are here.

We do not want to go back to Macragge

empty-handed.

I know.

Just don't be in such a hurry.

Death will find you soon enough.

War is not about glory.

War is about victory.

Looks like

you are going to get your fight after all.

With your strength you protect me.

With My care I repair you.

With sacred oil I appease you.

Be quiet, good spirits.

All Servitors to complete

ammunition blessings and leave the hangar.

Thunderhawk clear for take-off.

Lock in!

I will serve the Golden Throne of Terra,

for the wings of Aquila will shield me,

for the Emperor protects...

Pre launch position.

Descent window 84-40.

This backwater is called Mithron...

There is only one significant site

on this planet.

An lmperial shrine

guarded by a detachment of Space Marines

from our fellow Chapter, the lmperial Fists.

Captain Severus,

do they respond to our astropaths?

No, Hypax, they do not.

However, an emergency beacon

is still transmitting.

Well, then someone's still alive, Captain.

The beacon, brother Proteus,

may be on auto-cycle.

What size was the lmperial Fist

contingent, Captain?

Data says one hundred battle-brothers.

A full company,

and we're just a dozen strong.

The nearest fighting unit

is six weeks away, Pythol.

This one belongs to us.

First blood will be mine.

In your dreams.

If I get there first,

there will be no blood left for you two to spill.

If you get there first.

Still so eager to be heroes?

Someone has to be, apothecary.

I heard you turned the job down.

Beacon signal located.

Thirty kilometers to shrine site.

- Site visual.

- Show me.

That weather pattern

is directly above the shrine, Captain.

Set us down here.

We march for Macragge!

And we shall know no fear!

Deploy! Deploy!

Proteus! Right sweep!

Verenor! Left! Cover the angles!

Full scan!

The Emperor protects,

but it does no harm to double-check!

Crastor! Gun-seat! Scope ahead!

Yes, Captain!

Not natural, Captain.

- Weather expert now, Pythol?

- No, Captain.

Ultima Squad! Form up!

Pilot, extraction here in two hours.

Keep a good spread.

Crastor? Status?

Clear six hundred meters, sir. Standby.

Drop the speed, Lycos.

You see something?

No. Just got a feeling.

Something wrong?

- Can you hear that, Hypax?

- Hear what?

Voices. In the wind.

Just vox distortion.

Proteus is hearing voices!

Probably that smack to the head.

Wait here!

- Boreas!

- Holy Throne!

- Be vigilant, brothers!

- Put it out! Put it out, now!

Be calm! It's just corposant!

Verenor is right.

It's just corposant. Bale-fire.

The weather's doing it.

It is a bad omen is what it is.

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