Golden light split the darkness.
The presence of the Adeptus Custodes was unlike anything Dain had ever felt. It wasn't simply power—it was authority made manifest. The sheer force of their arrival sent a pulse through the ruins, shattering the shifting tendrils of unreality. The entity that had been reaching for him let out a sound—a noise that was not a noise, a scream that was not a scream.
And then, it was gone.
Banished. Erased.
Dain collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as the weight of what had just happened crashed down on him. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath, hadn't noticed the way his hands trembled against his weapon. His armor was scarred, battered, but he was still alive.
Not because of the Emperor's grace.
Because of the system.
He clenched his fists, fighting down the bile that rose in his throat. No. No, that wasn't true. He was a soldier of the Imperium. A warrior of the Emperor. Whatever had just happened—whatever power the Archivist had forced upon him—it was irrelevant. He would find a way to purge it. He would—
A shadow fell over him.
Dain looked up.
They were here.
Towering figures in gleaming auramite plate, their forms were both impossibly graceful and brutally imposing. The Custodians were not simply soldiers. They were legends made real. The right hand of the Emperor Himself, His chosen warriors, and the last line of defense between the Imperium and oblivion.
Dain had fought alongside Adeptus Astartes before. He had seen Space Marines rip through enemy lines like gods of war. But even they paled in comparison to the Custodes.
Their leader stepped forward, his armor bearing the marks of an ancient veteran—each engraving, each sigil telling a story older than most civilizations. His spear gleamed with righteous fury, and his helmet, though unreadable, seemed to pierce through Dain's very soul.
A voice, deep as thunder, yet smooth as polished steel, rang out.
"Sergeant Dain of the Astra Militarum."
Dain forced himself to stand at attention. Every muscle in his body screamed, but he ignored it. Pain was temporary. The Emperor's judgment was eternal.
"Lord Custodian," he saluted, his voice hoarse but unwavering.
The Custodian studied him for a moment, then glanced at the artifact behind him.
"You stand at the precipice of damnation, guardsman."
Dain swallowed hard but did not flinch. "I serve the Emperor."
The Custodian was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he lowered his weapon.
"Then prove it."
The words settled like iron shackles around Dain's soul.
He did not know if the Custodes had sensed the power within him—the thing the Archivist had forced into his flesh and mind. He did not know if they had seen his movements, his unnatural reflexes, the way he had survived when he should have perished.
But one thing was certain.
They did not trust him.
And in the eyes of the Custodes, a lack of trust was a death sentence.
Dain took a slow, steady breath.
"Tell me what must be done."
The lead Custodian turned, his gaze lingering on the artifact. It was silent now, dim, as if the battle had drained it of its malice. But that did not mean the danger had passed.
"This place is cursed."
He turned back to Dain.
"And you will cleanse it. In the name of the Emperor."
Dain felt the weight of the order settle over him. Purging heresy was nothing new to him. But this? This was different. The system inside him pulsed as if reacting to the very idea. It had saved him—forced him to survive.
But now?
Now it would be tested against the might of the Emperor's chosen.
Dain met the Custodian's gaze and gave a single, resolute nod.
"By His will."