Before the soldiers move, provisions must come first.
This is a truth shared across all worlds and races, from ancient times to the present. Even if the exact phrase differs, the meaning remains the same.
As the former Great Wolf Lord of the Space Wolves' "Firebreathers" Great Company, now the Chapter Master of the Fire Hawks Chapter, Sven Bloodhowl stood by the hangar's edge where military supplies were piled into mountains, recalling the words often spoken by the veteran war scholars of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Russ and the Emperor above!
He had never fought in a war this rich in his entire life!
The scale of the logistical support and the sheer number of personnel involved were unheard of. To put it bluntly, Sven suspected that even his gene-father himself, in the most glorious days of Holy Terra, had never enjoyed such luxury.
Ah, how he longed for it—all of it. How he wished he could take every bit away.
Sven felt the "Wolf's Spiral" gene within him boiling. His blood surged with the urge to let loose his warriors to seize it all by force and claim it for themselves. Unfortunately, just as his gaze drifted, he caught sight of those glittering, golden figures gleaming in the light.
Gulp...
On second thought, maybe not.
At this point, even a Primarch's word carried no weight.
The special privileges of the Astartes' parent Legions had long since been stripped away from both military and political systems, leaving them with nothing but their cultural and historical heritage.
If they really caused trouble now, Sven had no doubt that those so-called "mortal" overseers and auxiliary military police would dare to seize, behead, and hang them on the banners right before the lines.
At the same time, watching the sons of Fenris become so ecstatic upon receiving their supplies that they started marking off crates belonging to other Astartes successor chapters—complete with all the noisy Fenrisian slang, shoving, and laughing—Sven couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment and shame at his kinsmen's boorish, bandit-like behavior.
But soon, he cast aside that fleeting shame.
Can shame fill your stomach? Can it serve as a weapon? Can it save your life amid blood and fire? No, it cannot!
Sven Bloodhowl let out a long sigh.
"My apologies, those wolf cubs have never fought such a prosperous war before. I fear they've made quite a scene before the Imperial Guard," he said, his tone slightly lacking in confidence.
Though neither humble nor arrogant, his voice nonetheless carried the unmistakable undertone of one placing himself a step below those he addressed.
After all, beside Sven Bloodhowl stood several towering figures whose physique and aura far surpassed even an Astartes' limits. They loomed at the edge of the docking platform beneath the floodlights, their tall helms gleaming, adorned with ornate spread-eagle motifs, and crimson plumes fluttering proudly.
Their full suits of golden armor were exquisite and luxurious. Each bore a mastercrafted guardian power halberd pointed toward the heavens. Their silent presence alone was enough to strike awe and fear into the hearts of all around them.
The Imperial Guard.
"In terms of supplies, we are not like the Empress' armies. For us, more than ten thousand years of constant warfare has made scarcity the norm. Our mindset doesn't shift so easily. Even for us—those who might be considered well-off among the new Astartes—many brothers still think in terms of filling every inch of their ship's cargo holds before battle."
Sven's deep voice carried through the hangar.
The unspoken meaning was simple: we've been poor for too long. To receive such new equipment on this scale—it was unprecedented. So, of course, the wolves got overly excited and started running wild. He asked the senior officers to forgive their crude enthusiasm.
"Another incident started by the Wolf Chapter? That does sound rather in line with what we know of the Space Wolves Legion—no major crimes, but endless minor offenses. His Majesty once described them as... 'space huskies,' wasn't it?"
One of the Custodians nodded, implying he was not one to cling to formalities.
As words passed between the Custodians and the Chapter Masters and Captains of various Astartes forces, idle chatter filled the air. Yet amid the literal mountains of supplies within the temporary airfield, the clamor suddenly grew louder.
"By the Throne! These are the armaments granted to us New Astartes by the Divine Empress herself! You barbarians of Fenris—how dare you!?"
From the entrance of a massive, forge-built transport ship—its hull painted in quarters of blue and bone white, its insignia depicting a skull encircled by a twelve-pointed star—came the heavy, rapid clang of metal striking metal.
A large group of Astartes charged out, laughter booming. Each bore the wolf-head sigil upon their pauldrons, their faces wild and fierce, armor painted in gray with fiery crimson patterns. Every one of them carried multiple supply crates—each nearly as large as an Astartes themselves—hauling them over their shoulders or under their arms, their fanged grins gleaming as they howled and dashed toward another transport ship across the field.
Following behind that group of Fenrisian sons came another contingent of Astartes—painted in the same blue and bone-white quartered scheme as the transport ship itself. They were none other than the victims of this chaos: the Novamarines.
"Put it down!"
"Hey, hey, brothers of Ultramar, don't be so stingy. You're far better suited for rapid response and ranged assault tactics anyway. These melee armaments aren't much use to you. Why not let us take them instead?"
A furious Nova Marine shouted back from behind the howling pack of Space Huskies: "Nonsense! Who are you calling stingy and wasteful? Fine then! You want the melee crates you stole? Trade them for heavy loaders!"
The playful scuffle between the Ultramarine lineages and the Space Wolves instantly drew the attention of nearby Astartes Chapters who had come to collect their own supplies. Even among the newly recruited soldiers of the Imperial Guard, some craned their necks in curiosity at this farcical little brawl among the Angels of Death—so little different from a mortal army squabble.
"The Codex Astartes may not be perfect, but those who ignore it often lack discipline. A friendly reminder, my brothers of Fenris—before the disciplinary reforms begin, it would be wise to correct such habits."
Before the watchful eyes of several Chapter representatives, Sven Bloodhowl's fur-covered old face flushed red—especially when he caught the meaningful smirk of the Novamarines' representative.
"Before this conflict escalates further, we should stop it in its infancy," said an Astartes Captain with yellow armor, black-and-white checkered pauldrons, and a heart-shaped blood drop insignia—the mark of the Lamenters Chapter. His expression carried visible concern.
"Hmm... those wolf cubs have gone too far," someone muttered.
"Standards are standards. Given your history of hardship, an allowance of ten to twenty percent above quota is acceptable—but that does not mean you can act without restraint. Still, you have good taste for precision-crafted gear..." said one of the towering Custodians as he stepped forward.
Whoosh.
Just as the group of laughing Fire Hawks warriors turned back toward their ship, with the pursuing Novamarines being held off by more friendly Fenrisians and empty pleasantries, that massive Custodian vanished in a blur of motion. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared before the grinning ringleader of the wolves—and delivered a precise hand strike to the back of his neck.
Thud...
With a dull impact, the Fire Hawks warrior—who had been proudly carrying seven or eight crates of mastercrafted power weapons—collapsed unconscious on the spot.
"Return it, you overexcited Fenrisian pups," the Custodian said evenly.
It all happened in an instant. Seeing their fallen brothers and hearing the Custodian's calm but authoritative tone, the remaining wolfish troublemakers froze in place instead of moving.
"Good," the Custodian remarked.
"Hesitating before obeying a superior's order?" Beneath his ornate golden helm, a faint smile curved his lips.
Swish, swish, swish...
With a flurry of motion, more than a dozen of the wolfish instigators went flying backward so fast they left afterimages.
Thud, thud, thud.
Catching the 'stolen goods' with one hand, the Custodian used his halberd hand to project a telekinetic pulse that gently cushioned the Fenrisians' fall so that they wouldn't be injured.
Then, without a single wasted word, he set the stacked supply crates neatly in place—and proceeded to discipline the offenders as though scolding schoolchildren. Each blow was a single slap, no more, no less. The Honkai energy within his palm struck their enhanced organs with surgical precision.
There was no malice in it—but the pain would certainly last awhile.
Catching the last two who tried to sneak the 'loot' back to their ship by the neck, the Custodian said coolly, "Too late." He hoisted them effortlessly and tossed them aside, piling the stunned Fenrisians into a small mound.
Watching as the Custodian dispatched nearly three tactical squads' worth of warriors with casual ease—almost as easily as plucking chickens—the sons of Fenris present were overcome with shame and fury.
Yet none dared to argue.
They couldn't win. At all.
And, truth be told, they were in the wrong.
"Do not bring the crude customs and habits of your homeworld or former units into the Holy Imperium. Here, your traditions may be preserved, but you have but one identity—the Empress' warriors. The only difference lies in your military designations and assignments."
"Remember—do not mistake us for the Custodians of old Terra you once knew."
The golden warrior turned his back. "I will grant your Chapter an additional hundred melee weapons. Let us see if your so-called ferocity is worth the trouble. Prove yourselves on the battlefield."
With that, golden light shimmered—and whoosh—he vanished from sight.
All that was left were the sons of Fenris and the Novamarines retrieving their precision-crafted weapons, staring at each other in silence.
"Hiss... by the eggs of a Glox beast... So causing trouble actually earns you an extra hundred melee weapons? If I'd known, I'd have brought more lads... Awooo!"
From the pile of groaning Fenrisian troublemakers came that mutter—only for it to be cut short as his Wolf Lord smacked him squarely on the forehead. "Idiot! Do you have a death wish?!"
"The Empress Selene's Imperial Guard aren't those reclusive mystics from Terra. They're the Empire's First Military Sequence, with the highest priority in the entire armed forces. They have both the authority and the power to disband an entire Chapter if they wish!"
"Come on, help me lift him... Oh, by the Empress, you're even dumber than a Glox beast! Even the fish under Fenris' frozen lakes have more brains than you! Why are you looting wearing Terminator armor?!"
...
After witnessing the Custodian's divine display of power and judgment, everyone present immediately returned to their duties. The entire scene settled into absolute order, without the slightest hint of dissent.
Obedience. Absolute obedience.
And this was precisely why Selene had deployed the Imperial Guard here.
The nature of the Warhammer universe was... unique. For mortal forces like the Astra Militarum, compliance came easily. But the Astartes were different. Ten thousand years of ingrained habit had made them reluctant—if not outright unwilling—to accept orders or discipline from mere mortals.
Selene's intent was clear: rather than waste time forcing obedience through "charismatic mortal commanders," it was far more effective to send Custodians as the counterbalance. Integration would come gradually—but first, attitudes must be corrected. They had to learn how to coexist within the Holy Selene Empire's military structure.
With the Custodians acting as anchors, mediating and suppressing conflicts among the Astartes Chapters became far easier.
This wasn't just a matter of overwhelming power; it was also part of ingrained Astartes psychology. Terra's Custodians were still Custodians. Though many Chapters had mixed feelings about the Custodes, they couldn't deny that deep down, there remained a subconscious respect—and fear.
The incident at Airfield 42 was hardly an isolated case.
Across the Tatooine Assembly System, where the Empress Selene had ordered the gathering of Astartes Chapters to prepare for a new grand crusade, conflicts were bound to arise. Though all were loyalists, the differences between Chapters were vast—even those sharing the same gene-line often diverged wildly.
Some regarded strict adherence to the Codex Astartes as sacred law, while others considered it outdated and restrictive. For some, deviation was heresy; for others, the Codex itself was the heresy.
And their battle doctrines—those were another world entirely.
Disputes were inevitable. Some even skipped the arguing stage altogether—under the exasperated gaze of the Sisters of Silence, they stripped off their power armor and settled matters the old-fashioned way: bare-knuckled brawls in the scorching desert, fists pounding flesh beneath the blazing suns.
...
Capital City, Beth Town.
Inside the colossal fortress-like ground command center—its walls rising high, lights gleaming—a massive command projection desk sized for Custodians stood at the center. More than a dozen Custodians coordinated with the Sisters of Silence over operations.
"Eishara, I heard you were dragged off by a few Chapters to serve as a referee?"
"Don't even start. One side specialized in devastating orbital bombardments, the other obsessed with brutal close-quarters assaults. They exchanged a few words, didn't like what they heard, and next thing I know, they're in the octagon. It turned into a full-blown melee involving hundreds."
"Not bad. Personally, I still think the Fenrisian wolves are the rowdiest of the lot."
"I agree. Compared to them, the Ultramarine successor Chapters from the Five Hundred Worlds are models of discipline."
"The Imperial Fists' line under Invicta isn't bad either. They're solid professional Astartes."
"And what about the Black Templars?"
"Cough, cough... let's not go there."
Their idle chatter soon gave way to more serious matters, as the tallest and most ornately armored Custodian Commander changed the subject.
"Enough gossip. The gifts have been delivered to the Imperial Capital. His Majesty is pleased and has issued commendation. Before the Imperial Science Bureau's representatives arrive, we must secure at least one core industrial world within the Mid-Rim of the Galactic Empire."
Science Bureau officials?
With thoughtful nods, the Custodians acknowledged the order.
The Commander's tone grew solemn.
"That escaped Jedi Knight—Luke Skywalker. What's the situation? Any new findings, or do we move to close the net?"
"Ready at any time. Based on intelligence gathered through mind-probe verification, the Jedi Order is confirmed destroyed. Years ago, the Galactic Empire purged their temple. That small green creature—Master Yoda, I believe—perished without leaving a trace. Regrettable... perhaps the last of the Jedi Masters."
"Commander, according to my Honkai resonance readings, I can roughly determine that Luke Skywalker remained in stasis for a time, but then his position shifted drastically. As a member of the Rebel Alliance, he's likely returned to one of their bases. We can close the net."
"Then let our younger sisters of the Sisters of Silence handle it. Their presence is... more suitable for first contact."
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