SANCTUM IMPERIALIS
In the palace of the God-Emperor, entire units of Custodians moved swiftly towards the rift that had torn open deep within the sanctified halls. At the breach, Custodes already stood vigil, their guardian forms still as statues. Gathered nearby in solemn silence were almost fifty Sisters of Silence — grim, hooded, their blank presence thick and oppressive, repelling the dark warp energy with their null auras.
Upon reaching the rift, the arriving Custodians exchanged brief nods with the sentries. Without a word, they crossed into the breach in organized waves, the Sisters following behind, their bolters and executioner greatswords ready. Some carried null grenades at their belts — specialized anti-psyker devices — while others bore archaic but deadly bolt pistols and Condemnor boltguns, weapons designed to bring swift death to warp-spawned horrors.
This was the greatest mobilization of the Legio Custodes since the Siege of Terra.
THE GOLDEN THRONE
Within the hallowed throne room, Constantin Valdor entered at a hurried pace, though his breath remained steady and controlled. Upon reaching the steps of the Golden Throne, he fell to one knee in deep reverence. Silence reigned.
The ever-vigilant Custodians stationed around the throne stood unmoving, their black capes swaying as if to a phantom wind. They betrayed no emotion, no thought, save for their devotion to the Emperor.
Valdor remained kneeling for what seemed an eternity. Inside his helm, his eyes were closed; his breathing was steady, his mind adrift in tranquil communion. Few still living could claim the honor of receiving visions or messages from the Emperor since His internment within the Throne. Fewer still could enter His psychic domain — the Sanctum.
At last, Valdor rose wordlessly. He brushed past a new wave of Custodians arriving to reinforce the security detail, his stride urgent, his very bearing radiating anger restrained by duty. His destination: the rift.
THE WEBWAY
Within the labyrinthine corridors of the Webway, a brutal slaughter unfolded.
Demons by the thousands poured forth, clawing and screaming, their twisted forms a blasphemy against reality. What had begun as a mere incursion had escalated into open war.
The Emperor's servants — Custodes and Sisters alike — fought back with supreme skill and relentless fury. Mortal men could never hope to count the number of daemons slain. Chaos Space Marines, corrupted beyond recognition, charged into the fray only to be slaughtered. The Sisters of Silence moved like spirits of vengeance, executing warp-tainted psykers with their boltguns and silencing warp spawned shrieks with the well-placed blast of null grenades. Each explosion tore gaping holes in the psychic fabric, banishing lesser demons outright.
At the frontlines, Atrius raged like a storm unleashed.
The giant Custodian had abandoned all restraint, ramming into enemy formations with earthshaking force, breaking the enemy lines with raw ferocity, his spear was nowhere to be seen. Custodians behind him moved with lethal precision, cutting down any foe that escaped Atrius' wrath, while shielding the Sisters from Hellbrutes and other monstrous constructs.
Blood — mortal, daemonic, and otherwise — slicked the golden armor of the Custodians, painting them in the hues of battle.
"Sisters, fall back! Support is incoming! Form ranks and retreat!" one of the Custodians barked into the comms.
"Atrius! Fall back — you're being swarmed!"
Answering with action rather than words, Atrius hurled aside a mass of demons clinging to him, then turned and charged into a Hellbrute. The impact shattered the corrupted war machine into gore, armor shards, and broken machinery.
Only then did Atrius obey, retreating into formation and shielding the Sisters as they regrouped.
In time, salvation arrived.
Out of a new rift, a wave of reinforcements poured forth: Custodians clad in resplendent gold, their arrival heralded by a dreadful, righteous fury. Leading them was a towering figure, his helm adorned with a purple hair plume — a mark of highest honor and command.
"Slaughter all Chaos-spawn! Leave none alive! Show them the wrath of the Lord of Mankind!" roared Valdor, charging ahead.
Behind him came the unstoppable thunder of golden giants *—
thum-thum-thum-thum-thum —*!!!!!
each footfall a death sentence for the enemies of Terra.
Among them, unnoticed by most, moved the Sisters of Silence. Stealth and silence were their weapons, even amidst this overwhelming display of force. Some hurled null grenades into clusters of psyker-demons, their explosive null-fields rendering the warp-creatures powerless before Custodian blades.
The Webway shook with the titanic clash of war.
Clang!Boom!
Spears, guardian axes, and sentinel blades tore through the enemy. Chaos Marines fell like wheat before the scythe.
Valdor cleaved his way toward Atrius, felling abominations with each strike, until he reached the giant's side.
BOOM!
Valdor slammed himself into a Hellbrute, sending the creature stumbling backwards, reeling under the impact.
Atrius, seizing a Chaos Marine in one massive hand, tightened his grip with deliberate cruelty —
Crack!
—and shattered the traitor's skull.
No pause. No mercy.
Another enemy — a yellow-painted Chaos Dreadnought — charged. Atrius met it head-on, halting the behemoth's momentum with raw might. With a thunderous roar, Atrius lifted the dreadnought by its mechanical arm and smashed it into the ground again and again —
Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!
—until the sarcophagus split, spilling its tortured contents.
With a final, ferocious heave, Atrius hurled the shattered wreck into the oncoming enemy hordes.
"Atrius! Withdraw with the Sisters. Return to the Sanctum. I'll take it from here!" Valdor commanded sharply.
Atrius hesitated only a moment before nodding, obeying without protest. New Custodian reinforcements took his place, forming an unbreakable bulwark. Sisters of Silence swiftly gathered around Atrius, forming a protective cordon as they retreated with him.
Valdor watched them go, his gaze darkening.
At his side stood Carneus, another veteran Custodian.
"You couldn't tell him, could you?" Valdor said grimly.
"I did," Carneus replied, shaking his head. "But he refused to leave us alone here. He claims he left a... backhand at the Palace — that he'll know the instant something goes wrong in the throne room."
They both turned to watch Atrius vanish behind the golden shield wall, the Sisters of Silence close around him like shadows.
Inside his helm, Atrius frowned.
This was the first time he had ever been pulled from battle.
And more troubling still, he did not understand why so many Sisters — most armed with null grenades, executioner greatswords, and bolt pistols — now hovered protectively around him.
Something was wrong.
THE IMMATERIUM
Chaos.
That was all the warp was — a seething, malevolent ocean of madness and desire, inhabited by the spawn of damnation. Here, reality itself screamed and bent to the will of dark powers.
At the highest echelons of this nightmare realm reigned the Four Great Gods of Chaos:
Khorne, the Blood God, master of slaughter and rage.
Slaanesh, the Dark Prince of Excess and Sensual Corruption.
Nurgle, the Grandfather of Rot, patron of decay and disease.
Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, god of lies, sorcery, and fate.
It was Tzeentch, in particular, who stirred the currents now. His many eyes — real and metaphorical — peered hungrily into the Materium, fixated upon a singular prize.
A treasure.
A being whose fate could not be fully seen, whose potential was veiled even from the gods.
Tzeentch desired to steal him — to warp him, break him, and reshape him into the perfect champion of Chaos. Though the other gods mistrusted Tzeentch's ambitions, they too saw the prize's value. Even Slaanesh, whose desires were ever more inscrutable, hungered for a share.
Thus they watched, the great lords of the warp, as their scheme unfolded.