Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights, Kaldor Draigo, is a man of singular focus and indomitable spirit. He is the leader of a brotherhood of Space Marines like no other in the Galaxy. The Grey Knights are the only chapter of the Adeptus Astartes whose gene-seed does not come from one of the Primarchs. Their gene-seed was taken directly from the Emperor of Mankind himself. Another difference is that every Grey Knight is a potent psyker. Created ten thousand years ago in the final months of the Horus Heresy by the Emperor and Malcador the Sigillite. They are the Chamber Militant of the Ordo Malleus of the Inquisition, which specializes in hunting daemons. The existence of the Chapter is virtually unknown outside of the Inquisition and the highest echelons of the Imperial adepta and is a well-guarded secret enforced by mind-wipes and even assassination of Imperial citizens if necessary.
The Grey Knights are the most potent weapons the Imperium has against the forces of Chaos. Though psykers are more susceptible to corruption by Chaos, no Grey Knight has ever fallen to the Dark Gods. Kaldor Draigo is the greatest example of this. He has been trapped in the Realm of Chaos for over a century thanks to the Daemon Prince M'kar. The true curse is that Kaldor is allowed to escape back into realspace occasionally to come to the aid of his chapter in their time of greatest need, only to be yanked back into the Warp when he has achieved another victory for mankind.
Inside the Realm of Chaos, he fights daemons nearly constantly, or at least he did until they began to fear him. He also denies their regular offers of aid in gaining his freedom. His mind and soul have proven incorruptible even inside of literal Hell. Now, he faces a new foe as his travels across the damned hellscape have taken him into one of the plague gardens of Nurgle. He has fought his way through a horde of Nurglings, Plagubearers, Plague Drones, and more, cutting them to pieces with Nemesis Force Sword and the sign of his rank, Titansword. Or blasting them to pieces with his Storm Bolter or displays of psyker might. Now, he stands face to face with a champion of this blighted realm of sickness and decay, Festerarion Mulcheater.
The fifteen-foot-tall daemon champion dwarfs Kaldor, who is wearing full Terminator Armor. It has three heads of varied sizes, all drooling acidic pus. Its bloated body is clade in rusted and decaying armor, of which its entrails hang from the decayed openings in the plate. It has four withered arms, and in each hand, it holds a rusted blade.
"Well, Light Knight," rasps Festerarion, "You have cut quite the path of destruction even though it was all utterly meaningless. Every daemon you have cut down has already returned. Every temple you have demolished has been rebuilt. You have to know that the gods are playing with you and laughing at your efforts. Papa Nurgle certainly is. Why not stop this foolishness? Papa will give you so many gifts to take back with you to the flesh realm. You fight for the Anathema, but look where he leaves you. Trapped here with us, a true god would never abandon one of his champions so. Come now, what do you say?"
"What I say is, shut up and come taste the Emperor's steel," says Kaldor, raising his Storm Shield and leveling Titansword at the daemon champion, "I promise you will love the taste, you overgrown pimple."
Kaldor can feel the daemon begin to call on the powers of the Warp. He begins to summon his own gifts. He is about to charge-
The plague garden vanishes, replaced with the clean stone of a place he recognizes instantly but can't believe his eyes. He is standing in the vast Hall of Champions at the center of the Citadel of Titan on Titan. He is standing in the center of his chapter home. He looks around, expecting it to be a trick, and is ready to yell his denial, only to find himself looking into the eye lenses and stunned faces of his Grey Knights brethren. The one nearest to him also has his weapons drawn, and his plate is blood-splattered and scorched as if he had just been in battle. He maglocks his bolt gun and force sword before reaching up to unclamp his helmet, revealing the face of the Grand Master of the 1st Brotherhood, Vardan Kai, Kaldor's oldest and closest friend.
"Kaldor, brother," stammered Vardan in disbelief, "Supreme Grand Master, is that you?"
Kaldor, still not able to believe what he is seeing, keeps Titansword up as he reaches out with his powers, searching for any sign of corruption. Daemons have tried to trick him like this before. He expects to find the place, and all those around him are Warp spun illusions, but all he finds surrounding him is the purity of his home and brothers. It is real. It is all real. He is home. Titansword clatters to the floor along with his Storm Shield. He reaches up and removes his helm, dropping that as well before he takes in the deepest breath of fresh air in his life. Without a spoken word, he pulls Vardan into a crushing embrace, which his brother returns wholeheartedly.
"Brother, I don't know how," says Kaldor, "But I am home. By the Emperor, I am home."
"Brother, I am overjoyed to see you, but I don't even know how I am here."
Kaldor holds his brother at arm's length, looking at him closely. There is no mistaking that he has recently been in battle, but surely there is no enemy on Titan.
"Where were you, Vardan?"
"On the world of Sagum's Hope," says Vardan, "In the Omarite System, brother. Within the Ultima Segmentum. 1st Brotherhood has been there aiding the Inquisition there for three years standard. We just pushed back a daemonic incursion. I was speaking with Inquisitor Hest Al'Abafa one second, and the next, I am here."
The two Knights look around and find that the Hall of Champions is filled with Grey Knights, hundreds of them from every Brotherhood. Many of them look fresh, while others look like they are fresh from wars. All of them are confused about how they got there. The volume of chatter is elevating by the second. Kaldor is about to take charge when a voice infused with the purest power any of them have ever felt echoes in every mind.
"Silence," says the voice, "All will be explained."
The entire room goes silent, and every eye turns to the head of the chamber, where a single figure stands before the wall of chapter standards with his back to them. His hair is long and white, brown skin, and he has the muscular build and height of an average human. When he turns around, he looks upon them with eyes of purest gold. It is obvious to everyone that he is not human, but the power he radiates is nothing like the power of Chaos.
"I brought you all here," says the golden-eyed man, standing with his hands in his pockets, "All of you who were not actively engaged in fighting off daemons in realspace. I have to say, I am impressed by what he accomplished with you. Psykers to whom the Warp cannot corrupt. You are also just as arrogant and self-righteous as him. Though I suppose that can't be helped. You have the genes of the Master of Mankind. As for who I am, your talents will make explaining that easy. I will just show you."
Before any can respond, he is in their heads again. This time, he fills their minds with the truth of who he is. He is Genesis of the First. The Father of the Emperor and the Creator of Mankind. He is a being of such power and intellect that the term god would be insulting. He is the stick against which the other members of his vastly powerful race measure themselves. He could burn this galaxy and everything within it to ash with a thought and never think of it again, but he has instead decided to become a part of it. He has taken the reigns of mankind and is steering them away from extinction. He is standing up against the predators that want to devour them. He isn't doing this out of any sense of justice or even love. He is doing this because he can. He is disgusted by what his son and the others he left as guides allowed humanity to become. For him, slowing himself down to a human pace is exciting, and facing down the nightmares this galaxy has spawned is playtime. He is creation given life and destruction given form. He doesn't care if he is worshipped because what others think of him is so far beneath his notice it may as well be nonexistent. He is the First, and reality doesn't bend to his will. His will is reality.
Without thought or hesitation, every Grey Knight falls to their knees with heads bowed. He did not force them to do so, and he wouldn't have cared if they did. It was what their bodies, minds, and souls demanded of them. Before they considered the Emperor their creator, and no being could ever surpass him, but now they know the truth, and they are ready and willing to serve the First in all things.
"Rise," says Genesis, and they all stand, "I don't demand that anyone bows to me, but thank you for your acknowledgment. I won't lie. I had considered getting rid of psykers altogether. The Warp and anything it touches annoys me, but that would not be fair. I gave you souls and free will, the two things the Warp preys on. Even my son decided that the power it could offer was worth stealing. So, no, I will not hold that against you. What I will do is change the source of your powers. Your power will come from me, and you shall act as you have always acted as shields against daemonkind. You and every other Space Marine psyker. I will not do the same for every human psyker because, as I said, I have given humanity free will. I will not strip that from them. And to be honest, I want to see where this evolution leads with the proper safeguards in place. You are my safeguards."
He puts out his hands, showing the hundreds of creation shards there. These are purple.
"Now, become my Unshackled and stand in defense of your race. Become more than weapons to be used and thrown away. Fight for a future that is yours to enjoy."
The shards fly forward, entering the nose of each Grey Knight. All of them become covered in purple light as Genesis watches. When the light fades, they all stand in the sleek silver armor of the Unshackled. Their minds and bodies evolved to the peak. Their connection network, Sio, has started to call the Warsphere established. Their connection to the Warp is broken as Genesis becomes the source of their psyker abilities.
Genesis's eyes fall on Kaldor, who, like the rest, is looking at themselves in disbelief, "Kaldor."
Kaldor snaps to attention, banging his fist against his chest, "Yes, Lord First?"
"I feel I did you a disservice," says Genesis with a smile, "I think you left some business unfinished. Would you like to go back and handle that?"
Kaldor returns the smile, "Yes, my lord. I very much would."
Genesis waves a hand, and Kaldor finds himself back in the plague garden facing Festerarion Mulcheater. The daemon backs away from the Unshackled Grey Knight, not knowing how he vanished or changed him, but it knows that this is a problem.
"What," stammers the daemon champion as it back away, "What are you?"
Kaldor is still smiling as he eyes the daemon with his black and gold eyes before summoning his helmet. He holds out his hand and summons Titansword. The Nemesis Force Sword was one of the most potent daemon-killing weapons before. Now, as Kaldor summons and infuses it with the pure power of the First, it is a weapon of pure uncreation. A regular uncreation weapon will deal devastating damage to a daemon much faster than regular ammunition, but they will still only banish them. That is not the case with the power of pure uncreation gifted to the Unshackled psykers by the First. When Kaldor kills a daemon with Titansword, that daemon is unmade and experiences true death. No, resurrection in the Warp or realspace.
"I am the Kaldor Draigo, Unshackled of the First," roars Kaldor as he rushes the daemon, moving so fast he seems to disappear and reappears in the air over the daemon with Titansword above his head, "And I am your end!"
Festerarion raises his rusted blades to defend against the blow. They may as well be made of paper. Titansword cuts through them, unmaking them in an instant before it slices Festerarion in half from head to crotch. The daemon stands there in stunned disbelief before it turns to shining dust on the winds of the Warp and disappears. Kaldor shoulders Titanblade and takes a look around at the plague garden. He wants nothing more than to spend another hundred years in the Warp, delivering true death to every daemon there, but he has a duty to the First and mankind. With a thought sent to the Warsphere, he is teleported from the Warp. Nothing there can hold him anymore.