Guilliman stood before the command platform on the bridge, watching as Luna gradually faded from sight. The grand lunar transfer docks and countless ports were still visible. All kinds of ships busied themselves between the ports and foundries, bustling about like worker bees. Magnificent orbital weapon platforms hung like mountains of steel, their massive gun muzzles dark and cold. Their scale was beyond imagination.
Guilliman felt some relief. Thanks to Magnus being banished deep into the network, disaster had been avoided. If the enemy had taken Luna, it would have been a catastrophe. The heart of the Imperium, humanity's homeworld, would have faced its greatest crisis since the Horus Heresy. Magnus would have surely corrupted Luna with sorcery, and then spread Chaos to Terra itself.
"Victory will be ours, eventually." Guilliman murmured silently, turning to gaze at Terra through the porthole. The Imperium protected Terra with utmost strictness. Every kind of military artifact formed a tight ring of defense around the cradle of mankind. Dense minefields stretched for thousands of miles, each like a polished metal skull. Heavily armed battle stations and defense platforms hung in deep space, each the size of a city. Enormous Ecclesiarchy ships drifted through the dark sky. Within their miles-long confession boxes and solar shrines, vast halls were filled with pious worshippers and ascetics kneeling on the ground. Day and night, they whipped themselves, their bloodied wounds demonstrating their devotion to the Emperor.
Numerous patrol vessels shuttled constantly, eternally vigilant, like loyal bees defending their hive.
Yet, even these magnificent giants looked small compared to the Imperial Fists' mobile fortress, the Phalanx. The Phalanx was stationed between Luna and Terra, its hull bustling with maintenance platforms and servo-structures—the mountain god's repair work in full swing.
After the battle of Cadia, the Phalanx had returned to Terra under the command of Third Captain Tor Garadon of the Imperial Fists. It now served as the world's guardian, scanning its surroundings like an ever-watchful eagle.
In the distance, Mars and its angry red orbital platforms loomed.
The closer Guilliman drew to Terra, the more solemn his expression became. Wreckage from battleships—both loyalist and traitor—could be seen scattered throughout space. Mechanicum ships and salvage furnaces were busy cleaning up.
Custodian Navradaran briefed him on the situation. These wrecks were the result of the Great Rift's emergence, with traitors plotting rebellion and chaos corrupting many unknown Imperial servants. Imperial forces faced uprisings by cultists who hid aboard transport ships, starting riots upon arrival at Terra, seizing vessels, and attempting to assault the Throneworld—only to be suppressed by the Imperial Fists.
Though Guilliman's face remained calm as he listened to the security reports, anxiety crept into his heart. Even the cradle of humanity was engulfed in war; the situation in other sectors could only be worse.
"Amazing... the modeling... this light and shadow... these details..." Datch exclaimed. He lay by the window, watching Terra grow larger, sighing in admiration for the game developers. "Bow before the art and programming leads... how much money did they spend...?"
"Incredible! Even if I were nailed into a coffin, I would scream with this rotten larynx from the grave, shouting about this game—this pillbox! This castle! It's over!"
In the 42nd millennium, Terra's natural resources have long been depleted. During the Great Crusade, the oceans vanished. The entire surface is now a dense mega-city with no other scenery in sight. A family that owned land on Terra since M30 would now possess unimaginable wealth and influence.
From Terra's surface, vast waterfalls of light glimmered, while unparalleled mega-structures and statues pierced the polluted atmosphere. Spaceport spires stabbed into the dark void, guiding millions of government transports up and down. Only ships with strict authentication layers could bring pilgrims into Terra's orbit.
As the ship halted, Datch received a mission completion prompt:
[Mission Complete: Support the Living Saint, thwart the Primordial Rebel's conspiracy, and deliver Roboute Guilliman to Terra. Congratulations!]
[Mission Rewards: 3000 XP, 3000 Credits, Reputation +200, Paint palette x1]
"Another mission complete. Very nice," Datch said, turning from the window and opening his game inventory to check his rewards. A set of gleaming, beautiful Custodian skins appeared before his eyes. Datch carefully read the instructions:
Paint palette: After use, transforms your current gear's appearance to that of Custodian armor, and grants basic identification signals. Effects last until manually canceled or equipment is changed.
"Interesting. Not just the looks, but even the ID signals change. If I don't say anything, who would guess I'm not really Custodian?"
"If I change into something like Gundam later, will it keep the Custodian style? Who knows."
Decisively, Datch used the skin. Before his eyes, the Chaos-painted Terminator flowed like mercury and transformed. The original five-god paint vanished, replaced by deep, luxurious dark gold. The armor's contours and appearance changed dramatically. In just a few moments, a warrior in golden armor stood there, looking every bit like a true Custodian soldier.
The bridge fell silent, with those nearby staring wide-eyed and speechless. Why had he suddenly become Custodian? Even the usually composed security officer Navradaran looked shocked, his pupils contracting.
This was not just a surface change—it affected sensors, the Custodian's encrypted communications, and basic friendly logos. If you didn't know the exact personnel, you'd think this was a real comrade.
The four other Custodian soldiers were equally stunned, instinctively tightening their grip on their power spears. Two seemed about to interrogate him, but Celestine stopped them.
"Everyone, there's no need to be alarmed. The Emperor's power is beyond imagination. His current state may be an embodiment of the Master of Mankind's will," Celestine said. As a Living Saint blessed by the Emperor, her words instinctively quelled the soldiers' hostility. Still, they eyed Datch warily, ready to act if this strange man did anything out of the ordinary.
Guilliman, too, was shocked—he hadn't expected this nameless figure to become part of the Custodian. More and more mysteries surrounded this man, making him truly unfathomable. Guilliman wanted to calm the Custodian and instruct them to ignore the nameless one's oddities.
At that moment, Sicarius approached.
"My lord, a message from the Chancellor of the Imperial Senate: he wishes to meet you at the spaceport."
….
Bonus chapter at 300 PS
Read atleast 40 advanced chapters at patreon.com/AbsoluteCode