At the same time.
On the other side.
Just as Adam raised the arm of Roboute Guilliman, Lord of the Thirteenth Legion, and brought a title that had been silent for ten thousand years back to the world in a shocking and unquestionable manner under the Emperor's endorsement.
In the clouds.
Above the polluted, churning gray-black skies of Terra, plasma engines spewed ghostly blue flames as a sleek transport craft flew at air-tearing speeds. Its shape resembled a long, narrow dagger, its surface covered in a stealthy dark coating designed to bypass auspex detection. The hull lines were clean and sharp; only the roaring skull and the capital "I" symbol of the Inquisition on its flanks proclaimed its absolute authority.
Inside the transport, the glow of the instrument panel illuminated Sibylla Barrigas's calm yet focused face. Her fingers slid rapidly across the control panel flickering with various patterns, calibrating the flight path to their destination. The craft vibrated slightly as it pierced through thick clouds heavy with industrial waste.
Behind her stood not the silent golden-clad Custodes, but two rows of Tempestus Scions in heavy power-feedback armor, weapons in hand. They stood as still as iron statues, their gazes fixed forward through tactical lenses beneath their breathing masks. The heavy equipment caused a slight hum on the deck, yet not a single soldier relaxed their posture.
Sibylla's lips didn't move, but her clear thoughts were transmitted through a psychic link.
"...I truly did not expect the Inquisition to move with such efficiency and determination this time." Leonardo's voice echoed directly in her mind, carrying a rare hint of wonder.
"Indeed. After all, the scale of this move by your Custodes was simply too massive." Sibylla's eyes didn't leave the holographic patterns before her, though her response carried a trace of helplessness.
"Even the most experienced Inquisitors, accustomed to any storm, were frightened by your actions," she couldn't help but complain. "I've already received numerous inquiries through secret communication channels, asking if I know the inside story—if something earth-shattering has happened that directly threatens the Golden Throne."
What did one thousand Custodes represent? On the public books, this number was one-tenth of the entire Ten Thousand's standing strength. Moreover, the Companions who guarded the Throneroom and the heart of hearts—the Golden Throne itself—numbered "only" three hundred handpicked Custodes. Deploying a thousand men directly into a proactive purge was a move so extravagant it bordered on the absurd.
It was also dangerously spine-chilling.
"Furthermore, many Inquisitors simply cannot refuse the glory of walking alongside the Custodes," Sibylla continued, relaying the signs she had observed. "In their eyes, if they don't prove their loyalty and value to the Emperor on an occasion like this, they aren't fit to be called agents of the Throne."
"If the matter weren't so critical, even Lady Cleopatra Erth, the Inquisition's representative to the High Lords, might have personally joined the front-line mission." Sibylla added, "It took several Lord Inquisitors stepping in to finally convince her to withdraw that idea and instead preside over the big picture, organizing a joint command system rare in Inquisition history to process the massive amounts of intelligence submitted by all Inquisitors."
"By the way, I'm a bit curious." Leonardo's thoughts sent a new inquiry with a hint of investigation. "Where do you plan to start your own investigation?"
The transport suddenly dove, breaking through the polluted cloud layer. Below, a corner of the Eternal City—the sprawling, stacked, and chaotic megahive nearest the Imperial Palace—revealed its suffocating grandeur and decay under the thin sunlight.
Sibylla didn't hesitate for a second. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the hull, casting itself toward that dark forest of metal.
"My answer is—the Eternal City." Her reply was decisive.
"Oh?" Leonardo raised an interest-piqued eyebrow, the doubt clearly transmitted. "Can you tell me why?"
"The reason is simple," Sibylla analyzed, her logic sharp. "You should know that I'm nearly certain—if the Chaos Powers truly intend to stir up trouble on Terra, their goal won't be just creating a few chaotic demonic incursions or using some pathetic attacks to 'prove' the Primarch's return is a mistake."
Her words were filled with conviction. "They would only choose the most straightforward way: launching an actual strike against the Imperial Palace itself."
"If that happens, Lord Guilliman will be forced onto the battlefield." Sibylla gave a cold sneer. "Many Inquisitors obsessed with noble games or internal infighting might not realize this, or even if they did, they'd think it pure fantasy. But my experience traveling with Lord Adam tells me that bold assumptions often get closer to the cruel truth than conservative guesses."
"It seems you have a clear line of thought," Leonardo's approval came through. "But, do you really not need me or other Custodes to accompany you?" He changed the subject with some confusion. "I specifically reserved several excellent warriors for your team. I didn't expect you to directly refuse a Custodian escort."
"There is no need," Sibylla replied curtly. "I am an Alpha-level psyker. A seemingly fragile psyker acting alone is like a torch in the dark; it's often more effective at drawing out the filth hiding in the shadows of the Warp. Bringing you along might just make them retreat into their dens."
"As for the second reason..." Her thoughts paused briefly as she glanced back at the silent, iron-clad Scions. "Do not forget, besides being an Alpha-level psyker, I am also a Level 2 Reality Warper."
As they spoke, the transport sliced through the sky and arrived at the preset coordinates. As the vector engine nozzles tilted downward with a low, powerful roar, the craft hovered steadily under the counter-force before slowly descending onto the hard ground, kicking up years of dust.
The landing site was a chaotic shantytown. In the distance, the outlines of the Palace's mountain-like walls and sky-piercing spires were clearly visible, standing for ten thousand years and appearing indestructible.
But looking closer, one could see the mottled scars upon them—some black as ink, with the newest being at least nine thousand years old. Most were as old as the Imperium itself, silently telling of endless war and sacrifice in this dark galaxy.
Within that hazy, holy silhouette, the Tower of Heroes and the palaces of the High Lords stood tall, appearing both majestic and blurry under the thin Terran sunlight, like another world.
In cruel contrast to that holy vista was the ground beneath Sibylla's feet. This was clearly the outskirts of an industrial hive, a typical combination of a slum and a mechanical scrap yard. Like a festering scar, a large number of twisted metal sheds were attached to massive pipes and abandoned mechanical structures. The dim air was thick with the pungent smell of engine oil, waste, and cheap synthetics. Abandoned mechanical units and industrial wreckage were piled high everywhere, forming labyrinthine alleys.
At this very moment, this area was being swallowed by the flames and clamor of a riot. Brawls, shoving, the glint of blades, the crude chatter of autoguns, the roar of low-grade explosives... various sounds merged, with smoke and dust rising into the sky.
However, it was these obvious signs of chaos that guided Sibylla's landing.
The arrival of the transport instantly shattered the crazed atmosphere of the rioters. The roar of the engines drowned out the noise of the scene. When it landed steadily, with the hatch facing the center of the chaos, the movements of those grim-faced rioters—smeared with filthy symbols—froze for a moment.
Huh? Which brother is being so dishonorable? What are Black Hands or Blood Hands compared to the Hand of God?
They stared wide-eyed at this sharp-lined craft bearing the Inquisition's sigil. The instinctive fear the bottom-dwellers of Terra held for authority temporarily overrode the frenzy incited by Chaos.
The hatch opened.
The first thing to enter their sight was Sibylla Barrigas stepping out. The hem of her standard-issue Inquisitorial trench coat brushed the edge of the hatch. Her pale face appeared exceptionally calm in the dim light of the slum, her cold gaze sweeping across the field.
As the rioters saw the details of her attire and that cold, merciless look, the fanaticism in many eyes rapidly faded, replaced by deep despair. The infamy of an Inquisitor within the Imperium was such that saying it could stop a child's crying was considered a compliment.
Sibylla's gaze swept quickly, instantly capturing the conspicuous or hidden eight-pointed stars of Chaos on the rioters, as well as several dozen mutants in the crowd who were visibly warped and reeked of the Warp's rot.
"Beyond saving," she whispered to herself, making her judgment. Without further orders, as an Inquisitor, she merely gave a light wave of her hand behind her.
"—Kill."
"—Kill."
The response to Sibylla was the silent and efficient slaughter of the Tempestus Scions. They acted like precision war machines, unfurling their formation in an instant.
The soldiers responsible for suppressive fire, wielding arc generators derived from Necron technology, fired first. Blinding blue-white electric snakes hissed out, jumping wildly through the dense enemy crowd. Everywhere they passed, rioters collapsed in heaps like harvested stalks of wheat.
The hulking Chaos mutants roaring and charging forward were hit directly by ghostly green neural-shredding beams. Their running motions stopped abruptly, the fierce light in their eyes extinguished instantly as they fell forward stiffly—their neural centers had been silently destroyed.
Within the Scion ranks, a dozen snipers draped in camo-cloaks used Exitus rifles, originally exclusive to the Vindicare Temple, to perform precision shots. These special rounds, capable of easily piercing armor and shields and costing a fortune per shot, were now fired in succession at an unimaginable speed, accurately hitting the minor Chaos leaders attempting to organize a counterattack or flee.
The remaining rioters offered sporadic resistance, but whether physical slugs or crude energy beams, they hit the deflector shields carried by the Scions—hand-crafted by Sibylla—only to cause insignificant ripples.
Within seconds of starting, the battle was nearing its end.
"I see, this is truly... a luxurious configuration." Leonardo's voice echoed in her mind again, his tone slightly strange. Under this level of suppressive fire, even if the opposition weren't a bunch of Chaos cultists but a group of renegade Space Marines, they would likely suffer heavy losses.
"Yes, this is also a simple experiment of mine," Sibylla replied through the psychic link as she stepped forward over the slightly twitching corpses. "Since obtaining this reality-warping ability, besides exploring its applications in my psychic powers, I have been discussing with the Mechanicus... no, with the researchers at Prometheus Labs, whether similar levels of individual firepower can be more widely deployed to other elite mortal units of the Imperium."
"Of course, the difficulty of this task is practically non-existent in reality, but because the priority is currently low and the results aren't very obvious, it's still in the theoretical discussion stage."
As she spoke, she walked up to a riot leader whom she had gripped by the throat with invisible telekinesis, pinning him in mid-air. This man's eyes were vacant, and the traces of Chaos corruption on him were the heaviest.
Sibylla extended her black-gloved right hand, pressing it lightly before his forehead. A psychic halo flickered. Massive, chaotic memory fragments filled with violence, madness, and dark prayers poured into her consciousness like sewage from a broken dam.
A normal psyker, even if they could withstand this mental pollution, would inevitably suffer intense nausea and dizziness. But Sibylla merely frowned. Her will acted as the strongest levee, and her reality-warping ability responded to her call, thoroughly organizing, filtering, and absorbing the jumbled flow of information.
Soon, several recent, repeatedly reinforced memory images were captured and analyzed by her. her expression changed abruptly, her calm shattered by a rare look of shock.
"Is this... Eldar?"
She withdrew her hand, and the riot leader slumped to the ground, completely unconscious. As an Inquisitor who had also witnessed those elusive xenos on Macragge, Sibylla whispered to herself, her tone a mix of surprise and a hint of annoyance.
"...Why is it always you guys?"