Russ, I'll let you wear it for now, I'll strip you later

Lecter, the Florens Gorge.

Atop the cliffs stood row upon row of Astartes.

They came from three legions, but before long, there would be two.

On the right side of the gorge stood the Space Wolves in iron-gray armor.

They were the wolf pack that had trampled the Second Legion's homeworld underfoot.

On the left side of the gorge, the Shadow of Order Honor Guard and the 7th Legion stood separately at the head and tail of the canyon.

Between the black-armored warriors were the Faceless Ones, wearing their ocher armor for the last time, who would soon forget their memories as well.

They held no weapons. Most had no mutations, or only very few, or mutations whose bestial traits were not obvious.

Some of their cheekbones had been soaked in agents compounded by the Apothecaries of the Shadow of Order, softening, collapsing, and smoothing them back down.

Others had bestial claws and hooved feet cut away, replaced with prosthetics provided by the Mechanic Experts.

Behind them, the Adeptus Custodes in golden armor stared fixedly at their backs.

Thirty-six thousand two hundred and seventy-four was the highest number Nimrod had won from the Adeptus Custodes.

According to his thinking, the twenty thousand-plus men whom the Adeptus Custodes had rejected and slaughtered together with the wolf pack should also have been preserved and thrown onto dangerous battlefields against the Rangdan, Hrud, and similar threats.

Just as Kaeinis's bestialized wild wolves and the Blood Angels who would one day sink into bloodthirst would all be thrown by him onto the most dangerous battlefields.

But clearly, The Old Man in Yellow did not think so.

The Adeptus Custodes both represented The Old Man in Yellow in making the Faceless Ones lay down their weapons and obey Nimrod's orders, and served as a