Bridge of the Terra's Glory.
The instant the holographic communication closed, the bridge erupted into long-suppressed, uproarious laughter.
"Hahahahaha, fuck me! Paul, did you see Azkaellon's face?!" Tax Bro laughed so hard he couldn't close his mouth. "'Greetings, Praetor!' Damn, that salute was picture perfect!"
White Scars spammed the comms channel frantically:
"[Custodes' Pressure].jpg"
"[The Humility of the Primarch's Guard Commander].gif"
"[The Majesty of the Imperial Custodes Praetor].png"
"To think Titus's name would be hijacked like this, hahaha."
[Have you been loyal today]: "Cogboy, this Covert Inquisition Praetor lore you cooked up is solid; you even bluffed the Blood Angels."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman]: "Of course. Cogboy and I, along with a bunch of other players, scoured through every single piece of Warhammer lore in reality. The Custodes inherently have tons of secret organizations and structures. Besides! Paul's getup right now is genuinely Custodes Praetor spec. The Aquila on the right shoulder, the baton on the left, the Terran gemstone, the laurel wreath... Standing there in that kit, let alone Azkaellon, even if Sanguinius himself showed up, his first reaction would be wondering where this guy came from."
White Scars: "The key is the timing. With Aurelian in such chaos, the sudden appearance of a Custodes fleet directly under the Emperor's command just seems like they detected the anomaly and showed up. It's completely logical. Even if someone suspects something later, by the time they investigate, we'll have already finished the fight, packed up, and bolted."
Paul raised his giant golden hand.
The regional channel instantly fell silent.
"Jokes end here," Paul's voice echoed through his Custodian faceplate. "The landing window opens in eighty seconds. All units, final checks."
On the bridge's holographic tactical map, the dots representing each unit lit up green sequentially.
The Astartes Battalion, the Grey Knights Squadron, the Brothers of Silence Company, the Tech-Priests Detachment, the Dreadnought Formation, the Terminator Escort Squad, the Assassin Infiltration Team...
Four thousand six hundred superhuman warriors, a hundred Contemptor Dreadnoughts, five hundred armored vehicles, and thirty Thunderhawk gunships.
This was the entire fortune of the Crimson Dawn, built with twenty-seven billion Imperial Coins.
And now, they were about to slam head-on into a Nurgle Great Unclean One.
"G Bro," Paul turned his head. "How are things on Helovia's end?"
"Already boarded," [I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] pulled up the hangar surveillance. "Blood Angels' Second Emperor is personally accompanying her on Thunderhawk Seven. The kid is in good spirits, just a little nervous."
Paul nodded.
The Hope trait indicated that Helovia had to participate in this battle. Although he didn't know the specific reason, he trusted the guidance.
"Landing countdown: thirty seconds."
Paul gripped the Watcher's Axe tightly, the psychic runes on the blade lighting up one by one.
He looked out the observation viewport at the corrupted planet, which was growing murkier at a visible rate.
"Brothers," Paul's voice broadcast across the entire ship, reaching the ears of every warrior. "I hope you take this battle seriously. You all!" Paul raised his giant axe, pointing toward the Aru Industrial Zone. "Look over there."
The holographic projection switched to a real-time feed of the Aru battlefield.
A young soldier was huddled in a breach in the defenses. His name was Ryan. His left leg had been bitten off by a Beast of Nurgle, the stump already blackened and oozing pus.
But he didn't retreat in fear. Instead, he used his remaining right leg to brace desperately against an overturned riot shield. Holding his lasgun single-handedly, he mechanically pulled the trigger at the Nurglings swarming below.
"Come on... you rotting bastards..." His voice was weak, but every word was enunciated clearly. "My dad was a miner... Mined his whole life, lungs full of dust. When he died, the blood he coughed up was pitch black..."
A las-blast pierced through a Nurgling's head, the pink little daemon exploding into a puddle of pus.
"My mom worked in the hive ore-washing plant... Hands rotted away from the chemical agents. The factory said it was her own carelessness and didn't pay a single coin in compensation..."
Another Nurgling lunged up. He smashed its head in with the butt of his rifle, yellowish-green fluid splattering across his face.
"My little sister... is only eight... She accidentally dirtied a noble's clothes, and a street enforcer broke three of her ribs..."
His vision began to blur. The plague was ravaging his body, the high fever scrambling his thoughts.
But he still remembered that over a month ago, the Governor named Cage had arrived in the Kent Hive and announced the abolition of all draconian systems. He announced a ten-hour workday and declared that all workplace injuries would be compensated by the hive's treasury.
They brought the Aurelian Youth League. When he passed the assessment, put on this uniform, and received his first paycheck...
His mother cried and told him his sister could finally go to school.
"So..." The young soldier used the last of his strength to wedge a melta bomb into a gap in the riot shield, pinning it down with his own body. "...fuck off back to your cesspit... Long live... the Crimson Dawn..."
The holographic feed switched.
A Blood Angels warrior's power armor was melted through by a Beast of Nurgle's acid. He dropped to one knee, yet he still fired his bolter in controlled bursts at the swarming Nurglings until his chest cavity was impaled by a Plaguebearer's rusted blade.
With his final breath, he pulled the pin on his melta bomb.
Another bloom of fire blossomed.
The feed switched again.
Seranaphy Nori, the Blood Angels Champion, now had the left side of his face completely rotted away, his right eye as crimson as blood. He roared as he swung his power sword, cleaving a Plague Drone and its mount in half, yellowish-green pus spraying all over him.
Behind him stood the barely one hundred remaining Blood Angels and fewer than twenty thousand Crimson Dawn PDF soldiers.
And behind them was the Aru Hive, home to five hundred million civilians.
"These people cannot respawn," Paul's voice was calm. "When they die, they really die. If we win, their families will weep, and their names will be carved into monuments. If we lose!"
Paul paused.
"Then the entire planet, thirty billion people, will become fodder for the Chaos Gods. Sanguinius might fall in battle, and the Blood Angels Legion will suffer massive, catastrophic losses. And the Imperium of Man... will lose this sector."
He looked at everyone on the bridge.
"So, please temporarily forget that this is a game. This is a real war. And we—" Paul raised the Watcher's Axe high, the psychic light from the blade illuminating the bridge. "—are the only variable that can change the ending. For those who have no chance to respawn. For those who are still resisting. For—"
Paul's voice thundered, "The Crimson Dawn! For the Crimson Dawn!!!"
The voices of everyone aboard roared through the ship!
"Three, two, one. Drop commencing!"
The ventral bay doors of the Terra's Glory slammed open.
Thirty Thunderhawk gunships shot out like birds of prey leaving the nest, spewing plasma exhaust as they plummeted toward the atmosphere!
Close behind them were five hundred drop pods, one hundred of which were exceptionally massive, carrying the Contemptor Dreadnoughts.
Following them was the transport fleet, fully loaded with Terminators, Tech-Priests, Assassins, and follow-up supplies.
From orbit, it looked like a meteor shower of gold plummeting straight toward the green scar that was the Aru Industrial Zone.
--
Aru Industrial Zone, Defensive Line at the Edge of the Crater.
Seranaphy cleaved a Plaguebearer's rusted blade in two and followed through, splitting its skull open. Yellowish-green brains splattered across him, but he paid it no mind; he was already covered in far more disgusting things.
"Left flank! The breach is widening again!" Hassan's voice echoed in the comms channel, laced with despair. "Three Beasts of Nurgle are ramming it simultaneously! The foundation of the wall won't hold!"
Seranaphy wanted to respond, but a coppery-sweet taste welled up in his throat. He coughed up a wad of bloody phlegm filled with black clots.
The red at the edges of his vision was growing thicker, the Red Thirst gnawing at his sanity like maggots on bone. He knew he was reaching his limit. In ten minutes at most, he would completely lose control, turning into a mindless beast that only knew slaughter. And then, he would be executed by his own brothers.
"Champion! Look up!" A Blood Angels warrior suddenly pointed at the sky.
Seranaphy looked up.
Through the sky thick with green spore mist, he saw the streaks of falling fire. Dozens, hundreds, densely packed.
"A second wave of orbital bombardment?" Hassan's voice carried a sliver of hope.
"No," Seranaphy's pupils contracted slightly. "Those are... drop pods."
And they weren't the standard crimson of the Blood Angels. They were golden. A resplendent, majestic golden, exactly like the radiant armor of their Primarch Father.
–
The first drop pod slammed into the ground a hundred meters in front of the defensive line.
The instant the pod doors blew off, a giant golden god stepped out of the dust.
Standing 3.55 meters tall in Custodes Praetor Terminator armor painted with gold and enamel blue, the Aquila baton on his pauldron reflected a divine luster amidst the fires of the battlefield. The giant axe in his hands was longer than most warriors were tall, and the psychic fluctuations flowing across the blade distorted the air around it.
Behind him, more drop pods made planetfall.
Astartes warriors clad in various colors of power armor poured out of the pods: Dark Angels, Imperial Fists, White Scars, Iron Warriors, Salamanders, Ultramarines... They rapidly formed combat formations, the sound of bolters being racked echoing like the prelude to a torrential storm.
Next came the silver-grey psychic power armor. The Grey Knights silently formed ranks, the tips of their Nemesis force halberds glowing blue simultaneously.
The Brothers of Silence, clad in matte black, dispersed like phantoms. Wherever they passed, the psychic corruption permeating the air receded like the tide.
Tech-Priests with half-mechanical bodies shouldered multi-meltas, their tracked chassis crushing over the rubble as the muzzles began to charge.
Finally, a hundred Contemptor Dreadnoughts.
The instant these 4.5-meter-tall Dreadnoughts stepped out of their drop pods, the earth trembled. The muzzles of twin-linked heavy bolters, assault cannons, and multi-meltas raised simultaneously, locking onto the swarming Nurgle daemons ahead.
The entire drop sequence, from the first pod landing to the last Dreadnought taking its position, took less than two minutes.
Their efficiency was terrifyingly high.
Seranaphy froze in place, even the erosion of the Red Thirst momentarily suppressed by shock.
Where did this army come from?
Imperial Custodes, Astartes, Brothers of Silence, Tech-Priests, Dreadnoughts... The scale of this composition was enough to wage a minor crusade!
Right then, the golden Custodian turned around, the gaze beneath his faceplate sweeping across the defensive line.
Seranaphy felt that gaze linger on his festering left cheek for a moment.
Then, the Imperial Custodian raised his left hand, tracing the air.
Dark gold psychic energy coalesced into a line of High Gothic text, hovering mid-air:
[I am Demetrian Titus, Praetor of the Imperial Custodes' Covert Inquisition.]
[By order of the Emperor, I have come to suppress the corruption in this place.]
[Blood Angels forces, fall back to the final defensive line immediately to rest and refit.]
[I repeat, fall back immediately.]
The text dissipated.
Seranaphy opened his mouth, wanting to say that they could still fight.
But looking at the Praetor-spec Custodes Terminator armor, and looking at the surrounding superhuman warriors who were silent yet exuding terrifying auras, he ultimately just nodded and roared, "All Blood Angels, evacuate the current position and fall back to the final defensive line! Crimson Dawn PDF forces, coordinate with allied units and provide covering fire as we retreat!"
After the order was issued, the remaining one hundred-odd Blood Angels began an orderly retreat. The ten thousand-plus PDF soldiers felt as if they had received a pardon, yet they maintained their discipline, falling back under the covering fire of the Astartes warriors.
The defensive line was temporarily handed over to this suddenly appearing golden army.
At that moment, the Great Unclean One seemed to sense the new threat.
It slowly turned around, its murky yellow eyeball locking onto the golden Custodian at the front of the defensive line. The carrion tentacles dangling from its abdomen writhed in excitement, and it lifted a hooved foot.
THUD!!!
The ground quaked violently.
It took its first step.
Beneath the faceplate, the corners of Paul's mouth curled up slightly.
He gripped the Watcher's Axe tightly, an atomic forcefield shield unfurling in pale golden ripples around his body.
"Grey Knights, psychic suppression. Brothers of Silence, blanket the area with your blank fields. Tech-Priests, prepare heavy ordnance. Astartes, clear the trash. Dreadnoughts! Fire at will."
Paul pointed his axe blade at the putrid colossus slowly lumbering toward him.
"I'm going to teach this rotting hunk of meat." He took a step forward, the immense power of his golden sabatons shattering the ground beneath them. "What the Emperor's wrath truly means."