Following the Savior's urgent directive, the vast Redeemer Fleet, powerful enough to crush any regional force, mobilized in full strength.
They were preparing for a new round of operations.
All members of the Thunder Guard boarded the Dreamweaver.
Soon, under the lead of that golden warship, the sky-darkening fleet set course for the doomed region.
…
Istrad, Hive-World
This yellow-green planet had only recently undergone hive transformation, still retaining patches of vegetation. Yet, the Tyranid shadow had already fallen across it.
Its fate grew uncertain, slowly slipping into the abyss.
...
Orbit
A strike cruiser hovered beside a Black Ship from the Astropathic Choir. Soon after, a small landing craft detached from the cruiser, descending toward the planet's surface.
In a clearing within the woods, a squad of White Templars, clad in white power armor with black trim, awaited the arrival. Their captain stood at the forefront, flanked by several battle-brothers.
Beyond them, the distant Hive-City loomed in a haze of pale yellow mist.
The hum of engines grew louder as the landing craft touched down.
The ramp lowered, and out stepped the Custodians, clad in golden plate, followed by a Silent Sister.
The Custodian approached the White Templars, towering over them as she examined them with cold scrutiny. A woman's voice, firm and commanding, broke the silence:
"I am Tyliss of the Custodians. Where is your Captain Malachai?"
Ever since the Horus Heresy, the Custodians had remained vigilant of these Astartes who valued glory and brotherhood over loyalty to the Emperor.
They considered the Astartes an unstable element.
And they had every reason to.
Nearly half of the Astartes legions had rebelled alongside their Primarchs, falling into corruption and treachery.
The Emperor had suffered grievously because of them, enduring millennia of torment.
Since then, the Custodians had never shown the Astartes any goodwill, and even spoke ill of the Primarchs.
In their eyes, no one—not even the Emperor's sons—could claim greater loyalty than themselves.
After all, who could have foreseen that even the Emperor's most favored and trusted Warmaster would turn traitor?
If not the Custodians, then who could the Emperor trust?
The White Templar sergeant gave a slight bow.
"I am Zephram, sergeant of the White Templars. Captain Malachai is on orbital defense, securing a world of seven billion souls. It's no easy task.
Allow me to report the situation here. Please, follow me."
Zephram led the Custodians toward a nearby sanctuary, where a large number of Tithe Grade Eleven psykers were held for transfer to the Imperium.
The Custodians' arrival lifted his spirits.
"With the Tyranid fleet less than a week away, your presence here will make a world of difference."
Tyliss's response was cold and indifferent.
"A thousand worlds along the Solar Sector's fringe are preparing for the xenos. This planet is no different."
Her tone sent a shiver through Zephram's heart.
"This world is one we swore to protect."
"I know your oaths," Tyliss replied, entirely unfazed.
Zephram stopped, facing her directly, his voice serious.
"Then… are you here to help us?"
The Custodian gave no reply. But her silence spoke volumes.
Suppressing his rising anger, Zephram gave a stiff nod.
"After you collect the Tithe, you're just going to abandon us, aren't you?"
He gave a curt bow.
"Forgive me. I must return to fortify the lines and protect the people."
Turning on his heel, he led his battle-brothers away.
Tyliss's gaze lingered on him, her voice growing colder.
"Tell Malachai to see me. We need to talk."
Her displeasure was evident.
A loyal Astartes would never question the Custodians. Zephram's attitude hinted at seeds of disloyalty.
Had there been stricter Custodian Guards present, they might have already subjected him to censure or even trial.
She hoped Malachai would follow orders—otherwise, the entire White Templars Chapter would require scrutiny and possibly full audit.
Zephram nodded.
"I will deliver your message, my lady. The Tithe is yours to collect."
Tyliss gave him no further attention. She and the Silent Sister continued onward.
More pressing matters awaited.
According to the Silent Sister's report, the Tyranid vanguard was drawing closer. Many lives would soon be lost here.
But sacrifice was the foundation of the Imperium.
Her priority was the Tithe—this precious cargo of psykers—ensuring the Black Ship could depart for the Astropathic Choir.
Upon reaching the holding area, the Black Ship's overseer and the escorting unit immediately fell to their knees.
The overseer, voice trembling with excitement, spoke:
"We never expected you would come, my lady. Your presence honors us."
"How many are in this Tithe?"
Tyliss raised a hand, indicating they should rise, and inquired about the psyker count.
"My lady, there are one thousand four hundred and thirty—an exceptional harvest!"
Tyliss gave a satisfied nod.
"Begin loading them onto the transports immediately. All personnel are to evacuate this world."
A local official in charge of the Tithe transfer looked uneasy, asking tentatively:
"Will we be safe? Surely the Tyranids won't reach us, right?"
The man's anxiety was plain.
The Silent Sister signed swiftly in battle-hardened code:
"No. This world is doomed. Everyone here will die."
The official, unable to interpret the hand signs, stared in confusion.
Tyliss glanced at the Silent Sister and answered for her:
"Everything is fine. There is nothing to fear."
Relief flooded the man's face.
"That's good. With the Custodians here, we'll be safe for sure!"
Tyliss offered no further words, signaling the Black Ship overseer to begin preparations.
Sometimes, ignorance was a mercy.
Compared to the Astartes, the Custodians regarded mortals far more kindly.
Mortals were fragile, easily broken, their minds weak—corruption among them was an inevitability.
Any slight shift could turn them into casualties of war.
These mortals… they deserved pity.
But the Astartes, with their iron will and indomitable spirit, had no such excuse.
Their fall to corruption was a betrayal the Custodians could never accept or forgive.
Tyliss, despite her sympathy for these mortals, knew their fate was sealed.
No rescue, no change.
Let them die in hope—that was the only gift she could give.
Soon, Tyliss led the column of psykers toward the transports.
Due to the terrain, they had to traverse a short stretch of jungle.
In a region stalked by Tyranid vanguards, this was no easy task.
Yet she had confidence they could manage.
But then…
Trouble erupted.
As the Tyranids drew closer, the shadow of the Hive Mind grew heavier, causing several psykers to clutch their heads and collapse, howling in agony.
Tyliss and the escort guards tensed instantly, sensing the imminent attack. The precious Tithe was in grave danger of suffering heavy losses.
Suddenly, a psyker snapped, breaking into a full sprint toward the dense woods.
But before he got far, his body erupted in arcs of warp lightning, dark violet energy engulfing the area within meters.
The sheer force of the psychic discharge warped space itself, threatening to tear open a rift into the Immaterium, as hints of daemonic energy seeped through.
This was the peril of uncontrolled psykers.
If they spiraled into full destabilization, they could tear open a gateway between the Materium and the Warp, inviting daemonic incursion.
In severe cases, such an event could annihilate an entire planet.
The escort squad instinctively raised their weapons and fired—but the bullets froze mid-air, trapped by the twisted physical laws within the psychic maelstrom.
A terrifying, shadowy figure of a daemon flickered into view.
Panic gripped the escort team, their minds crumbling in the face of this overwhelming horror.
The situation spiraled into disaster.
Yet Tyliss's expression barely changed.
To her, this was merely the predictable danger of managing psykers.
Even if a daemon did manifest, she was confident she could handle it—especially with the Silent Sister at her side.
Tyliss glanced at the Silent Sister, signaling her to resolve the situation.
The Silent Sister nodded, bounding forward in swift, practiced strides.
She had handled such emergencies countless times.
It was routine for her.
Without hesitation, the Silent Sister stepped directly into the warp-charged area—a space so twisted by the psyker's outburst that it could drive mortals mad or even kill them outright.
Yet as the psychic energies surged toward her, they simply dissolved—like a black hole consuming all light, the raw warp power melted away in her presence.
She reached the levitating psyker, grabbed him firmly, and the moment their bodies made contact, the psychic storm vanished entirely.
The psyker collapsed, disoriented and frightened.
"W-What… what happened to me?"
The Silent Sister gave no answer. She flung him behind her like a discarded rag doll, then swiftly drew the blade from her back.
Clang!
A Tyranid Lictor lunged from the shadows, its scythe-limbs slashing downward, only to be parried by the blade.
The sheer force of the blow drove the slight figure of the Silent Sister into a crouch—she struggled to hold her ground against its might.
Worse still, another attack came from above, targeting her head.
The Silent Sister shifted, parrying and redirecting the strike. Using the Tyranid's momentum, she flipped backward, putting distance between herself and the creature.
Just as she prepared to counterattack, there was a sharp crack—the Tyranid's head exploded, and it crumpled to the ground.
She glanced aside.
The Custodian, at some point, had raised her Guardian Spear, the integrated explosive charge having annihilated the xenos in a single shot.
Gunfire erupted all around them.
More Tyranid creatures swarmed into the area, but the escort team had already established a defensive perimeter, cutting down any that approached.
These elite mortals of the Imperium, responsible for safeguarding the Tithe, showed no panic at the Tyranid assault. They held firm, their gunfire a wall of steel protecting the precious psykers—the essential fuel for the Astronomican, the very foundation of the Imperium's survival.
The Custodians moved within the defensive lines, eliminating high-priority targets with precise, lethal strikes—each attack a death sentence.
Hiss—
A Tyranid Lictor burst from the undergrowth, swiftly killing two mortal guards, tearing into their flesh with savage hunger.
The remaining mortals stood paralyzed, staring in horror as the creature's scythe-like limbs swept toward them—completely helpless.
But then—a blur of motion.
Faster than the Lictor's strike, a figure appeared in front of them.
The sound of a blade shearing through alien flesh rang out.
The Lictor fell.
Only then did the mortal guards realize the figure standing before them. Gratitude and reverence shone in their eyes.
It was the Custodian.
This being radiated overwhelming power—she had slain a Lictor in a single motion, moving so fast the mortals hadn't even seen her blade swing.
Another Tyranid warrior hesitated, then lunged at her, swinging its claws in a lethal arc.
Tyliss didn't even bother to parry.
With a casual swipe, she struck it down—the force of her palm alone obliterated the creature's head.
She then thrust her spear into the dense foliage.
Another Lictor burst out, impaling itself on the blade.
Bang! Bang!
The Guardian Spear's explosive rounds detonated, tearing the xenos apart.
Tyliss moved like a precise, merciless killing machine, eradicating the Tyranids one after another until the immediate area was cleared.
Distant gunfire still echoed, but that was no longer her concern.
Her mission was to secure the Tithe, ensuring the psykers were safely loaded onto the transports—then enforce the Emperor's will upon the White Templars here.
She watched as the escort team secured the psykers, boarding the Black Ship-bound transports.
A moment later, a Thunderhawk gunship descended.
From it stepped Malachai, the White Templars' Captain, flanked by several Terminators.
He approached the Custodian without hesitation.
After a brief silence, he removed his helmet and reported:
"Custodian, I am Malachai, Captain of the White Templars. I have come as you requested."
Tyliss removed her golden helmet, revealing a hardened, resolute woman's face.
"You should know—it was not a request."
"I do not know what you want from me," Malachai replied, his voice tight. "There's less than a week left before this planet is swallowed whole… and you've already harvested the Tithe, preparing to leave us to face the Tyranids alone."
Tyliss fixed him with a piercing gaze, as though measuring his soul.
"I will depart within the hour. But before that, one final order must be carried out. I speak as the Emperor's voice—you will obey."
Malachai's eyes flashed with a hint of defiance.
"You refused our request for aid. Now you ask for more?"
He clenched his fists.
"Istrad is within our protectorate. We have sworn an ancient oath to defend this sacred world, and if need be, we will die here!"
This was their recruiting world, their motherworld—home to ancient, hallowed sites, the very symbol of their vows.
The White Templars would fulfill that oath, even at the cost of their lives.
Tyliss's expression remained cold, almost detached.
"You will not fulfill that oath."
She activated a simple star map, a holographic sphere displaying the Solar Segmentum and surrounding systems.
"This is the Emperor's decree. We are establishing a cordon of dead worlds across the Solar Segmentum's fringe, a buffer zone to divert the Tyranid swarm."
As she spoke, red markers flared on the map. One by one, planets within the buffer zone vanished.
Malachai's gaze fixed on Istrad.
It, too, disappeared.
His eyes widened in disbelief, and grief filled his voice.
"No…"
Tyliss's tone was absolute, unyielding.
"You will withdraw your Chapter from Istrad. You will abandon your oath to this world and its people."
She paused, then delivered the crushing reality—an order that was also a death sentence.
"Once your forces are in orbit, you will personally give the command for Exterminatus."
The command to destroy the very world they had sworn to protect.
No time for evacuation. No chance of survival for its billions of souls.
A wave of shock rippled through the White Templars.
Malachai stared at her, stunned, the grief nearly overwhelming.
"You cannot ask us to do this!"
Tyliss extinguished the star map, her patience wearing thin.
"I do not ask. I am the Emperor's voice. I deliver His will."
Malachai stepped forward, his voice rising in anguish, tinged with desperation.
"This is an oath we have upheld for three thousand years—our Chapter's honor!"
Tyliss gripped her Guardian Spear tightly, her voice like steel.
"We will tolerate no threat to Holy Terra—no matter the blood, the lives, or the honor it costs."
Her patience was at its end. This was her final warning.
"You have heard the Emperor's will, Astartes. You will obey—won't you?"
Tyliss believed she had given him more than enough chances.
If he defied her once more, clinging to his so-called honor and brotherhood over loyalty to the Emperor…
Then the Custodians would purge this disloyalty themselves and execute the Emperor's will—no matter the bloodshed it required.
She hoped the White Templars would remain pure—steadfast in their loyalty to the Emperor.
Malachai, filled with grief and internal conflict, slowly closed his eyes.
He understood.
The White Templars could not defy the Custodians—nor could they resist the will of the Emperor.
Even if they refused, the Exterminatus would still be carried out. The death of Istrad and its billions of innocents was inevitable.
No one could stop this.
At last, the Captain spoke, his voice trembling.
"I will—"
But his words were cut short by an unexpected change—a sudden, reverent hymn filled the air, breaking the tension.
It was the Savior's hymn.
This divine melody resounded through the atmosphere, filling hearts with an inexplicable sense of peace.
A dark-gold Thunderhawk gunship descended at blistering speed, its downdraft scattering dust and sand in a violent storm.
Tyliss narrowed her eyes, looking toward the gunship.
She saw them.
A group of warriors stepped forth, clad in dark gold armor, nearly as tall as the Custodians themselves.
Their leader, a Shield-Captain, stepped between the Custodian and the Captain.
He delivered a declaration—one that echoed the Savior's will:
"The Great Savior, the Primarch of Hope, has claimed this world. It will be protected. It will not be destroyed—under any circumstances."
The Savior's voice resonated across the skies, a promise to the people that they would be protected and granted a brighter future.
Not just for this world.
All the worlds marked for destruction within the buffer zone had received this promise and blessing.
The Savior's light would shine upon the suffering masses and lift them from the abyss.
The Shield-Captain turned to Tyliss and Malachai, his tone resolute:
"The Savior's will has been delivered. Your cooperation is expected. This is not a request—it is an order."
(End of Chapter)
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