The hangar bay doors of the Red Tear, Crimson Oath, and Wrath of Baal opened simultaneously.
Five hundred drop pods.
These conical crafts were thirty-five meters long, armored with heavy plasteel at the base, their flanks painted in the blood-red livery and Legion insignia of the Blood Angels.
Each pod carried ten Astartes warriors: five tactical marines, two assault marines, two heavy weapons specialists, and a sergeant.
Inside the pods, the warriors were locked into the restraint harnesses in a half-kneeling position, their power armor's servo-locks interfacing with the bulkheads. Their bolters and chainswords were already gripped tightly in their hands.
"Launch in thirty seconds."
Tobias's voice echoed over the vox-casters inside the pods. "Upon planetfall, execute maneuvers according to pre-designated tactical squads. Priority targets are visible Warp rifts and corruption ritual nodes. Remember, we are facing Warp. Do not trust anything you see. Do not listen to any whispers. Do not attempt to comprehend any blasphemous knowledge. Your weapons, your faith, your brothers—these are the only things that are real. For the Emperor."
The warriors in all five hundred pods responded simultaneously, their voices converging into a torrent of steel over the vox-channels:
"For the Emperor!"
Launch.
Magnetic catapults launched the drop pods from the hangar bays, carving five hundred blood-red trails through the void.
As the pods entered the atmosphere, the friction against their ablative hulls ignited blinding plasma trails, looking like a meteor shower.
And at the very vanguard of this meteor shower...
Three special drop pods.
They were thirty percent larger than standard pods, their outer armor significantly thicker, with the Terminator honors of the Sanguinary Guard etched into their sides.
In the center pod, Sanguinius stood upright.
The Primarch wore no restraint harnesses; his physique alone was more than capable of withstanding the extreme G-forces of atmospheric entry.
His pristine white wings were folded naturally behind him, the golden plates of his resplendent artificer armor shimmering with psychic light beneath the pod's internal lumen-globes.
In his hand, he gripped the Blade Encarmine, the massive greatsword personally gifted to him by the Emperor. The blade was currently emitting a low, resonant hum, thirsting to drink the blood of heretics.
"Father, upon planetfall, your position will be exposed to the line of sight of every enemy in the sector." Azkaellon's voice crackled over the vox from a neighboring Terminator pod. "I advise allowing the Guard to establish a perimeter first."
"Unnecessary," Sanguinius interrupted calmly. "I did not come here to hide behind a perimeter."
His gaze seemed to pierce through the hull, as if he could already see the hive city pulsating below like a blue-purple tumor.
"I came here to ensure every heretic knows... Where the Great Angel descends, there is only absolute judgment."
The pod shuddered violently as it entered the terminal guidance phase.
Target: City of the Holy Anthem, Central Sector. A three-kilometer radius surrounding the former spire of the Conmo Dynasty.
It was the densest core of psychic contamination, the primary source of the Warp rifts.
It was also... where Sanguinius deduced the heretic leader was located.
"Five. Four. Three. Two."
BOOM!!!
The three Terminator pods slammed into the plaza surrounding the central spire simultaneously in a tight triangular formation.
The kinetic energy released upon impact instantly pulverized the paving stones within a hundred-meter radius.
The shockwave blasted over a dozen Pink Horrors that hadn't dodged in time, splattering their bulbous bodies against the surrounding walls.
The blast doors blew open.
Sanguinius was the first to step out.
--
At the same time. The eastern wastelands on the outskirts of the City of the Holy Anthem.
Solar Auxilia, 7th Armored Regiment, 3rd Company, 4th Platoon.
The tracks of a Land Raider Proteus ground over shattered rockcrete, the Solar Auxilia Aquila and unit designation stenciled onto its hull.
Tank Commander Erich Krause was thirty-five years old, hailing from a recruiting world on the third moon of Baal. He had twelve years of service and had participated in numerous hive pacification campaigns.
But this time was different.
Through the viewing port, he stared at the towering hive city in the distance. The City of the Holy Anthem was currently shrouded in an eerie purple mist, within which geometric shapes constantly flashed.
"All crew, final checks," Erich's voice sounded over the internal vox.
"Main gun, lascannons. Power cells at 98%. Cooling systems nominal."
"Secondary armament, heavy bolters. Ammo feeds full."
"Hull armor. Frontal composite plating undamaged. Flank reactive armor blocks intact."
The driver, Karl, turned around, unable to hide the nervousness on his young face. "Commander, I heard there are... heretics inside?"
"There are," Erich did not lie. "A lot of them."
He patted Karl on the shoulder. "But remember what they taught you in training. Heretics die just like anything else. Burn them with lasers, blow them apart with bolters, incinerate them with promethium. And if all else fails..."
The commander drew a chain-dagger from his belt holster.
"...close quarters combat. Remember, fear is their favorite food. If you show no fear, they lose a third of their strength."
The company commander's orders crackled over the platoon vox channel:
"All units, be advised. Hive Entryway Seventeen is confirmed clear. Width is one hundred and twenty meters, suitable for armored column advance. Assault sequence: 1st and 2nd Platoons advance and secure a beachhead. 3rd and 4th Platoons follow up and push toward the Seventh Industrial Zone in the Mid-Hive. 5th and 6th Platoons hold the rearguard, secure the entryway, and ensure our line of retreat remains open."
Erich took a deep breath. "4th Platoon, acknowledges."
He looked at his crew. Karl, the driver. Hans, the gunner. Peter, the loader. Lina, the secondary weapons operator.
Four mortals and one Land Raider Proteus, about to drive straight into hell.
"For the Emperor," Erich said.
The crew responded in unison. Their voices trembled slightly, but not a single one backed down:
"For the Emperor!"
The engine roared, the exhaust pipes of the Land Raider belching black smoke as the tracks chewed the gravel, surging toward the hive entryway.
Ahead of them, countless identical armored vehicles and tens of thousands of Solar Auxilia soldiers in grey-blue uniforms were pouring into the entrances of the City of the Holy Anthem like a tidal wave.
And above them...
Five hundred drop pods streaked down like blood-red meteors, trailing plasma fire as they smashed into various sectors of the hive.
Blast doors blew open, Astartes warriors stepped out, and the roar of bolters and the scream of chainswords instantly echoed through the streets.
The war had begun.
--
Kent Hive, Governor's Palace, Sub-Level 3, Quiet Room.
Paul lay flat on a cold metal slab, his upper body bare.
Above him hovered the twelve mechanical arms extending from the void, each tipped with a different surgical implement.
Bone saws, genetic injectors, neural-interface probes, muscle-fiber weavers...
[Project: Custodes Augmentation Package]
[Price: 35,000,000 Imperial Coins]
[Estimated Duration: 72 Standard Hours]
[Augmentation Details: ...]
[Risk Warning:]
[This augmentation package is reconstructed by the System based on the Custodes template of the Warhammer 30K timeline. Effectiveness is 100% of the original Custodes.]
[During the augmentation process, the host must remain conscious to complete neural-interface calibration.]
[Mortality Rate: 3.7%]
Paul stared at the text hovering near the ceiling and slowly exhaled.
Thirty-five million Imperial Coins.
That was nearly the cost of augmenting six Space Marines.
But to him, it was entirely worth it.
The strength of an Astartes was still far too insignificant when facing Greater Daemons of Chaos or threats on the level of a Primarch.
He needed more—he needed vastly superior power.
The Adeptus Custodes. The personal bodyguards of the Emperor. The absolute pinnacle of human physiological enhancement. Warriors possessing individual combat prowess capable of briefly matching a Primarch.
This would grant him a truly qualitative leap in power.
"Paul, are you absolutely sure you want to do this now?"
The voice of the Cogboy crackled over from outside the Quiet Room. "The fighting has already started in the City of the Holy Anthem. Sanguinius dropped in personally with five thousand Blood Angels and half a million mortal Auxilia... If we don't arm ourselves as quickly as possible, what happens if things go wrong on Sanguinius's end? Or what if he decides to initiate Exterminatus...?"
"That is exactly why I must elevate my own strength, whether to deal with Chaos or the Imperium," Paul interrupted, his voice perfectly calm. "The augmentation takes seventy-two hours. During these seventy-two hours, I will be completely out of action. But after seventy-two hours..."
The pentagram in his eyes began to rotate.
"...I will possess the power to directly intervene in this war."
The light of Hope, Compassion, Resolve, Pioneering, and Wisdom intertwined deep within his pupils.
"Notify everyone: proceed according to plan. Biological augmentations and mech requisitions must be completed within seventy-two hours. In seventy-two hours, I expect to see at least three thousand fully augmented Space Marines and fifty combat-ready heavy mechs."
"In seventy-two hours..." Paul closed his eyes. "...my augmentation will be complete. By then, Crimson Dawn must have an army capable of fighting a truly brutal war. An army capable of carving a bloody path... right between Chaos and the Imperium."
The other end of the vox fell silent for a moment.
"Understood," the Cogboy's voice returned, laced with grim determination. "Focus on your augmentation. Leave the outside to us. In seventy-two hours, I will hand you an army, as well as a specialized strike force capable of effectively combating Chaos."
The vox connection terminated.
Inside the Quiet Room, the mechanical arms began to descend.
The bone saw at the tip of the first arm spun up to a high-frequency whine, aiming directly at Paul's left ribcage.
"Augmentation sequence initiated."
The cold, synthetic voice of the System prompted:
"Phase One: Skeletal Replacement."
Paul clenched his jaw, the five-pointed star in his eyes spinning at maximum output.
The bone saw bit into his flesh.
He had chosen not to use the anesthetics offered by the System. A tsunami of sheer, unadulterated agony immediately swallowed him whole.
He needed to feel this pain. He needed to become a truly powerful entity.
He did not utter a single sound. He merely clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit deeply into his palms.
Blood ran down his wrists, dripping onto the metal slab.
In the deepest recesses of his consciousness, within that spiritual domain forged by his five traits...
A blurred, winged silhouette was watching him.
Endure it, Paul.
Your pain, your resolve, your choices... they will all become the sustenance of Hope.
They will become... the starting point for changing this dark universe.
The mechanical arms continued their grisly work.
Bones were sawed open. Old marrow was scraped away. Composites of ceramite and adamantium, shimmering with a faint golden light, were implanted.
The very first Custodes augmentation among the players of Crimson Dawn had begun.
Countdown: 71 hours, 59 minutes, 58 seconds.
--
City of the Holy Anthem, deep within the Underhive.
Sacken Alar stood in the exact center of a massive sacrificial array over a hundred meters in diameter.
The array was painted in the blood of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine fallen cultists. Every single line writhed and shifted autonomously, forming non-Euclidean geometric patterns that the human mind could never fully comprehend.
Piled around the array were mountains of corpses—hive citizens who had been beguiled, corrupted, and ultimately drained of their souls.
Their life energies were constantly being siphoned away, injected straight into the Warp rift hovering above the center of the array.
"Sanguinius has made planetfall."
Sacken muttered to himself, the purple tendrils wriggling excitedly within the scar on his left cheek. "I can feel his psychic presence. So blindingly bright. So disgustingly holy. So... nauseating. But he is following our plan, stepping deeper into the hive exactly as we anticipated. Every single step he takes... adds more kindling to the ultimate sacrifice."
He raised his head, gazing at the Warp rift above, which had now expanded to fifty meters in diameter.
Deep within the rift, the phantom projection of Aetaos'rau'keres flickered in and out of sight.
"Everything is proceeding according to plan, my Lord," Sacken spread his arms wide, his voice brimming with fanatical devotion. "Sanguinius believes he is purifying. He believes he is delivering salvation. But in truth, he is merely driving more souls directly into our sacrificial furnace. Every heretic he slays, every node of corruption he destroys... he is actually weakening the fabric of reality, widening the scale of the rift. And when he finally arrives here..."
The corners of Sacken's mouth stretched to an inhuman width.
"...I will summon two Twin-Winged Daemon Princes into reality right before his eyes. They will be more than enough to severely wound, or perhaps even kill, the Primarch."
Deep within the rift, Aetaos's three pairs of eyes blinked simultaneously.
"Excellent," Aetaos's voice carried heavy approval. "But remember, our primary objective is not to kill Sanguinius. That is too difficult. Our objective is to make him bleed. To injure him. To inflict enough pain that he is forced into a premature retreat to call for reinforcements, thereby dragging the catastrophic mess of Aurelian IV into the view of the wider Imperium. And when that happens..."
Aetaos let out a chilling, horrific laugh.
"...Nurgle's green tide will surge forth from the rift in the Seventh Administrative Zone."
Sacken bowed deeply. "All glory to the Changer of Ways."
He turned around, looking at the three hundred-plus fallen psykers prostrating themselves at the edge of the array.
"Intensify the sacrifice. I want the descent of the Twin-Winged Daemon Princes completed within forty-eight hours. When that time comes..." Sacken looked up toward the Upper Hive, where the relentless roar of bolters and the shrieking of daemons continuously echoed down. "...we will present the Great Angel with a surprise... he will never, ever forget."
The array flared with blinding light.
Even more souls were siphoned away, injected into the Warp rift.
Within the rift, two terrifying, peerlessly daemonic silhouettes were eagerly straining against the veil.
--
The streets of the City of the Holy Anthem were no longer constructs meant for humans to walk upon.
Under the saturation of massive quantities of Warp energy and the guidance of Tzeentchian daemons, they had mutated into living, blasphemous entities.
The rockcrete split open, oozing viscous blue-purple sludge. The sludge writhed as if alive, constantly shifting geometric patterns surfacing upon it.
The walls were breathing. The buildings were whispering.
"Advance," Sanguinius's voice was terrifyingly calm.
--
Goal = 250 Powerstones.
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