[center][h1][u][b]By Decree[/b][/u][/h1]
-After the Events of Macroway 80-[/center]
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The Custodian had made his visits late, the pollution tinged sky turning a deep red as he moved from camp to camp. He’d passed silently between tents of canvas and plastarps. Some were freestanding, looped around poles brought or salvaged to make their shelters. Others were tied against the Imperial war machines that had brought such destruction to the Pacificans this day. He’d passed checkpoints and guard posts, his baroque armor the only credential needed for the mortals that manned them as he passed them by and left them in awe at their stations.

He delivered each message personally. He’d accepted no opposition or question, but of course there had been none. The commanders of the Astartes forces present had acquiesced without the need for such things, for they knew better. The message was plain written in black ink and rolled simply. No seals adorned it, and no seals held its contents shut, for there was no need for such measures of secrecy and security. No great formality was placed on the message’s delivery, each being handed in silence to their recipient, and yet the weight each piece of parchment held was immeasurable.


[center][h3][i]By decree of the Emperor, you alone are summoned before Him at once.[/i][/h3][/center]


They Astartes had brokered no responses, questioned nothing. Amaranthus Gallus had simply forwarded the coordinates for the meeting to each commander as soon as he’d handed them their parchment message and left without a word to deliver the next letter. With as much ceremony as his arrival, the Custodian was gone.
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The coordinates given to them by the Custodian had led them each here, to the top of promontory in the local geography. Twenty one banners had been raised aloft in a half circle, fifteen were shrouded in black. The banner at the apex of the half circle stood tallest and proudest of those that remained unshrouded, the Raptor Imperialis emblazoned upon its cloth whipping defiantly  in the ash-strewn winds of the Pan-Pacific wastes. The other banners moved in lock-step with the largest banner as a dry gale moved across the land. The unshrouded banners numbered from left to right across the half circle, [i]III, VIII, XII[/i], and [i]XVII[/i].

To either side of the half circle, stood two evenly spaced lines of Astartes. Each line was a solid grey mass twenty strong, volkite rifles and bolters held across their chests in utter stillness. The markings upon their shoulders denoted them as members of the Seventeenth Legio Astartes, each one fresh from the genevaults of the Himalazias.

An array of golden figures was also present. Six in total, five of them stood between the banners, their guardian spears held casually at their sides as they awaited their guests, though they were no less ready to commit violence if necessary. The final figure stood beyond the banners, his back turned to the meeting place as he watched something off in the distance, or pondered some great question none but he would understand. He was resplendent where he stood. His golden form was larger and more imposing than even the five Custodians behind him, and his mere presence exuded a sense of authority that could not be matched by any yet in attendance. 

For the Fifth, it would be a very recently promoted commander that arrived, the fellow originally in charge of the operation in the Pacific having died in theater. Indeed, the youth of Captain Nestorius would be visible at first glance, his skin lacking the leather-like texture Astartes quickly developed nor any wrinkles or lines even as he held a very soft smile when he entered and gave a quick respectful bow of deference. “Reporting, Masters.”

For the Bronze Scorpions of the Thirteenth, Legion Master Zaid ibn N’dar attended as a bronze-black edifice set against the metallic, grey Pacifican wastes. His armor was ragged with wear, torn of its fetishes and embellishments. Only a scrap of a black tabard remained as it whipped in the winds of the scrap plateau. Taloned fingers were stained in a dull, crimson hue from events prior to the summoning. His helmet stared out perpetually at the foremost warrior of the gathering, orange lenses gazing out beneath the laurel and scorpion atop. He stank of death, drenched in the filth of post-battle cleanup.

His form was lowered to a knee with a fist firmly pressed against the Raptor on his chestplate. Zaid had not moved from that stance since arriving and wouldn’t yet until commanded so. He spoke no words. His hearts beat with anticipation. It had been many, many years since he last warred with the Emperor’s Axe, not since the days of his mortal life; however, this was not a day for reunion. This was a day for retribution and Zaid sensed it in the air. His psycho-conditioning fought back every emotion that threatened to bubble up, yet something passed through. [color=f7941d][b]The scorpion that stings with wroth, scoured by the ashes of reckoning[/b][/color]. The fleeting emotion from beyond passed as he remained knelt before the assembly.

Legion Master Pho Scraphurst was on the slightly shorter side of an Astartes, though his blood stained, gore and ash covered armor did a lot to hide his lack of height. He had been in the midst of having his armor cleaned when he had received the message from the Custodian and answered the call he had. 

As he knelt down beside Zaid, blood and meat that had gotten caught in the workings of his armor took that time to break free, sliding or dropping off of his form and onto the war ravaged earth of Terra without acknowledgement. Small brown eyes observed the new Astartes for a moment, before focusing on the leader of the Custodian task force that had come. 

“The Thunder Warriors have failed the Emperor.” The figure spoke, with back still turned to those assembled, if only for a moment more, as the great warrior shifted his stance, the ripple of motion passing through the great pelt of the Lion of Shambhala that stretched across his pauldrons. Valdor turned in full as he spoke, pacing to the centre of the gathering. “Their violence outstrips their use, soon they will turn on each other, or the masses, or the Emperor.” Valdor spoke with certainty as his hand gripped the shaft of the Apollonian Spear, the weapon embedded in the coarse rock of the rise, pulling it free from the ground.

“That is why you were made, to be an assurance that such a failure will not repeat.” Valdor's eyes cast over those he had invited, but also the ranks of the Seventeenth. There was no boil of anger from the great warrior, only a solemn sense of duty. The other Custodians, still grand enough in their own right, moved from their places. The golden clad warriors set down small stone slabs, one for each of the summoned Astartes. Each stone, of knee height on the gene enhanced warriors, bore a slight indentation in the shape of an Astartes' armoured left hand.

“The act of one Astartes to kill another must not simply be a crime to commit, but to even think. Reports of such will never be recorded, such events will be consigned to oblivion.” Valdor paced as he spoke. For all he was capable of great feats of endurance, of unending unmoving watch when duty called for it, he was foremost a creature of action. 

“Those of us that know this truth, however, do not have the luxury of forgetting, we shall all bare the scars of such knowledge, and be the foremost agents in preventing such from happening again.” As the Captain-General spoke, several other figures joined the gathering. Robes of crimson hid forms writ unhuman in their advanced cybernetics. New allies from far afield, called forth on the word of Valdor. Each bore a gauntlet of Ceramite that showed signs of advanced internal workings.

“Place your hands upon the stone.” The Emperor's Custodian spoke, and as he did the Apollonian Spear crackled to life.

Pho… honestly felt the most like his former self prior to his ascension to an Astartes in this moment then just about any that came before him. Secret discussions in order to discuss taking care of an unstable ally that was once useful but was proving to be more trouble than they were worth, the desire of leaders to keep the infighting among their troops as low as possible… the implied threat of death if they don’t fall in line and do as they are told. 

Aside from the genetic multiplication on pretty much everyone present, it was just another day in the Hive. 

As such, without hesitation or complaint, the Legion Master of the 8th put his hand on the stone. He did respectfully ask “So who are the cyborgs in red? They seem new.”

Still with the thin smile on his lips, Nestorius would wordlessly come next. He didn’t arrive first to the stone. The two men that followed him outdid his signal of piety by kneeling when they arrived, and he didn’t want to find himself in the annoying situation of that repeating. Still, he kept his ears active, likewise curious about the new arrivals. 

“New yet ancient.” Valdor explained as he continued to pace, the spear held in one hand turning over and over in his grip, the motion bringing with it an acrid tang as the heat of the powered blade left a ghost of ionisation in the air. “They come from Mars, deployed here to seek the secrets of technology buried here, instead they have found the future.” Finally Valdor came to a halt, his eyes settling on the figures as they parted, revealing a fourth of their number.

This final member of the robed conclave was not so hidden by the heavy cowls and obvious machinery of her companions, her red and white hood furled down despite the whipping ash and dust in the aid. There was a tremble to her at the presence of the Transhumans, not least of all the impossibly imposing stature of the Emperor's Custodian.

“Acolyte Omatah, you are present here as witness for your masters on Martian soil, you will live as evidence of the Emperor's commitment to alliance with them.”

The seemingly young Martian woman gave a nod that seemed to continue as a wobble through her form. She was not spindly by the standards of many of her Martian colleagues, but the gravity was proving tough to adapt to, not to mention the circumstance of her first meeting with the Imperials. She was beginning to regret her diplomatic successes. Still, eventually she spoke. “The transaction is glady approved, Lord Valdor, your presence on Sacred Mars is anticipated, that we may provide in kind.”

The words brought something of a grimace to the features of the perfect Custodian, yet he nodded all the same. “You may begin.”

Omah bowed her head, before she spoke in a cascade of Binharic to the more oppressive robed figures. One of her hidden augments provided her the ability to speak the machine cant,  and the figures responded in kind, approaching the kneeling figures with the heavy set gauntlets they bore. A fourth was brought forwards, and Valdor looked to one of the attending Custodians.

“Your King and Emperor calls to you, do you accept this charge, to be bound as witness here?”

“I do, my Lord-General.”

“Then kneel as well, for we shall begin.”

Zaid was the last to finally lay his hand on the slab placed before him. He had never expected to be rebuked to this extent in the persecution of his duties. A sense of betrayal slithered into his brain, but it was quickly pushed down by psycho-conditioning and stalwart loyalty. His teeth grit together to force the emotion further down and wished to have been properly ascended.

[color=f7941d][b]Justice, a swaying dune of black sand, ever-changing with the coarse winds of enmity[/b][/color]. He wanted to snarl back at the words as they crept up. They came stronger now than they had previously. Zaid was reminded of the orange eyes that stared back at him in the last vestiges of his slumber. He breathed deeply as his right gauntlet came forward, pressed firmly against the stone.

“[b]Let it be finished in His name[/b].” He responded, finally opening his snarling lips to the one warrior that would have understood him.

The Emperor’s Custodian moved with a speed that even the augmented senses of the Astartes could barely register. The first weapon forged for the Imperium in this new age cut with irresistible force and mastery, one arc of the great weapon sundering Ceramite as easily as it did the golden shine of the one Custodian gauntlet. The powered blade of the weapon stopping just short of the stone, each hand presented before Valdor removed as easily as the warrior breathed. The moment was not allowed to linger, for then the servants of the Omnissiah moved forwards, mechanical limbs removing severed flesh and armour to place the machine gauntlets in their place. Internal hooks and wires, wiring mechadentries, pushed forwards, rending freshly cauterised flesh to attach into each warrior. A crackle of power immediately passed through the gauntlets, surging to connect with the nervous system of the host. Even that meant for the one Custodian volunteers was the same clay red, and it adhered with just as much forceful brutality.

“Their work is done?” Valdor asked Omah, who managed a nervous nod of her head from behind the assembled warriors and tech adjudants.

“Very well.” The blade of Valdor’s spear passed once more, and each of the Tech Priests, save their ambassador, crumpled into the dirt and ash of the ground, their lives servered as easily as the limbs of the Astartes. Omah could not help but gasp and step back, even if she had known those who had volunteered for this duty would not be returning, it was the blistering violence of the previously aqualine Valdor which almost stilled her heart in the process. “Speak not to your masters of this, girl, see this as your test, as it burdens us all.” Finally the energy of Valdor’s spear quietened, the Apollonion spear humming into silence. “Never shall the Astartes draw the blood of another.” He spoke once more, before the assembled Custodians echoed the sentiment, and with no further sound, Valdor sweapt from the rockside.
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Credits: [@Ezekiel] (Valdor/Adept Omah), [@Bright_Ops] (Legion Master Pho Scraphurst), [@MarshalSolgriev] (Legion Master Zaid ibn N'dar), [@Bugman] (Captain Nestorius)