Snow fell from the sky, like ash from an erupting volcano.
There was no sound at first—only a slow drift of white, the hiss of ice against metal. Then a breath, long and deep, filled with the raiming cold and corrupted air of another reality. The snow cracked beneath massive weight, and a figure stirred in the heart of a crater scorched black into the white frozen ground.
Constantin Valdor opened his eyes. All he saw was gold.
Not the sign of treasure, but his auramite armour, dulled now by the lack of energy and the unnatural quiet of this new reality. He rose to his feet slowly, not confused since he dealt with chaos daily, but observant. His joints, which could withstand the pressures of dips through the Warp, whispered faintly as he straightened to his full, titanic height. His eyes swept the land, checking for abnormalities, geographical indications and life signatures.
A jagged forest of pine and ice-ringed rock loomed around him. The air was... clear, not the chaotic psychic energy of the Warp. Not clean as he could feel something approaching, but far clearer of chaos than almost all planets he had been on. His sensors aren't working, nor is his armour, nor the Apollonian Spear. Something did permeate the area, though. Valdor stood silent for several long moments, observing the area.
Valdor didn't know where he was or why he was sent here. But still, he understood.
This was no exile. This was a task.
His breath came in measured, steam-thick puffs. The cold didn't bother him. The weight of his deposed suit didn't bother him. The seemingly random and unknown situation didn't bother him. He was engineered beyond such weakness. All that mattered was finding a way back to the Emperor's side and completing his mission. And he would complete it, no matter what.
He lowered his gaze, examining the crater, tracing the arc of descent. No signs of warp-taint. Curious. Even the snow avoided the impact site, as if the land itself rejected his arrival. That wasn't unusual, though. He looked to the sky. A wild wind howled across the frozen ridge behind him, carrying with it the faint smell of... wood? No. Bones. The other usual human odours. And death.
He turned toward the direction of the wind and began to walk.
Each step sank only lightly into the snow, despite his immense weight, perfectly balanced. His hand hovered near the haft of the Apollonian Spear slung across his back. His senses stretched outward, seeking a pattern in the whiteness.
Whatever this world was, he would fulfil his purpose.
For the Emperor.
.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go, Jon Snow thought to himself. Tormund, Jorah Mormont, Gendry, the Hound, Thoros, Beric Dondarrion, Jon and a few others went beyond the Wall to capture a Wight and use it as proof that the dead are rising. While trudging through a snowstorm, Jon and his party encountered a massive snow bear with blue eyes approaching them, which turned out to have been resurrected by a White Walker, decomposed to the point where rotting flesh and bone are visible through what's left of its pelt. The dead snow bear attacked the group and caused three deaths and wounded Thoros of Myr, before it could be destroyed.
They followed the bear's tracks northward after that. While navigating the jagged terrain of the mountain pass, the party spotted a White Walker at the head of a column of Wights moving silently through the canyon below. Acting quickly, they planted a signal fire, using it as bait to draw the creatures closer. When the White Walker stepped forward to investigate, the ambush was set in motion.
In a quick and decisive strike, Jon charged and drove his Valyrian Steel sword Longclaw through the Walker, shattering it upon impact. Its death unleashed a ripple through the ranks, causing most of the wights to collapse instantly. For some reason, though, one remained. Unaffected, it thrashed violently with mindless rage. The rest of the group closed in, overpowered the creature and bound it tightly. They had found what they had come here to do. Or so they thought.
The creature unexpectedly screeched for help, and its inhumane screams caught the attention of a massive host of Wights, who started to head in their direction. Seeing the dire situation they were in, Jon sent Gendry, against his protest, back to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to bring news to Daenerys Targaryen, as he was supposed to be the fastest.
The wights chased the group across a thin sheet of ice on a lake, as they headed towards a large stone island protruding from the centre. One member of the party tripped and fell behind; a few of the horde tackled him, and their combined weight broke the ice, causing them to fall through. This triggered a chain reaction of cracking ice around the rock until the horde halted to avoid the water. Throughout the night, Jon and his companions waited in the middle of the ice while surrounded by the army of the undead.
That was not the end of their worries, though.
As morning arrived, both the party and the undead quickly realised the ice, which had hardened overnight, was strong enough to support their weight, and in increasing numbers, the horde attacked the group's position. Sandor Clegane held them back with a hammer while Jon Snow and the other members of the ranging party joined in, wielding weapons of fire, dragonglass, or Valyrian steel. Beric Dondarrion managed to set several of the wights alight with his flaming sword. The group hacked and slashed at the wights with their blades, but were unable to do any significant damage.
That was where they found themselves right now. Seeing them being overwhelmed, Jon ordered them to fall back to the highest part of the island. They continued fighting against the wights. Jon saw his friends and fellow fighters giving it their all, but no end was in sight. He felt regret at the decision to journey north and capture a wight as proof. The plan was ridiculous; he should feel bad. His attention is pulled back as Beric shouts at them and points into the distance, at the top of a mountain range to their right.
"Look!"
The group looked to the right and saw it.
"A golden giant?!" Tormund exclaims.
At the top of the mountain, a lone figure stood. Constantin Valdor had arrived, attracted by the fighting and the feeling of death. His golden figure created a stark contrast to the white storm raging around. His spear in his hands and his cloak billowing in the wind, he said nothing and only observed everything. His gaze moved across the battlefield and analysed it.
'A small, desperate band of men. Fighting with the last of their remaining strength. Outnumbered a thousand to one. Surrounded by the risen dead. No visible command structure. No order. Primitive weapons. No psykers. No strategic advantage...'
Suddenly, however, Valdor's eyes moved to the sky, where he saw something larger approaching.
A deafening roar split the air. Snow explodes outward as a large dragon appears in the sky with fire spewing from its mouth. Daenerys Targaryen rode upon his back, flanked by two other dragons, Rhaegal and Viserion. Dragon fire scythed through the undead and killed them by the hundreds. The few men observed that the dragon's powerful beams of fire spewed from its mouth, decimating the wights and giving them breathing room.
Daenerys, on her dragon, landed next to the group, who rushed towards her. Meanwhile, two individuals observed the happenings from an elevated position: Constantin Valdor and the Night King. Valdor could feel the being's presence and observed his next move, adding information to his new situation. One of the Night King's lieutenants handed the Night King an icy javelin and pulled it back, aiming at Viserion, who was still killing wights. With a powerful throw, he hurled it through the air, scoring a direct hit at Viserion's neck.
An agonising shriek was heard as the dragon fell helplessly from the sky.
'Biological weapon. Capable of flight, flame-based assault. Controlled by a human female. Effective against the dead. Kill last.'
Valdor noted everything in his mind. He saw the Night King ready another spear and moved his gaze back to the group. One of the group hollered at the group to leave and distracted the wights, catching the interest of Valdor. Daenerys and the survivors of the expedition flee on Drogon and Rhaegal just before the Night King throws another javelin at them.
With the dragon gone, the Night King moved his own gaze and met with Valdor's. As their eyes met, for a fraction of a second, a mental battle took place. However, the outcome was clear as day.
Constantin Valdor took a step forward and allowed gravity to pull him down. His enormous weight impacted the ground and announced his arrival with a large crater. The shockwave threw most of the wights off their feet and made them focus on him, just as he wanted.
The Emperor's Spear walked forward.
The silence of his steps belied his size and weight. His hand moved, slashing the Apollonian Spear through the air with the grace and power, unlike anything this world had ever seen. There was no power in the spear, but that didn't matter, not really. The bodies of several dozen wights split in half and fell to the ground. The golden monstrosity mowed them down by the dozen, and as he did so, he realised that his weapon was insufficient in ending the dead's existence for good. But that didn't matter.
His speed increased, turning him into a storm of destruction and bisecting. The horde of seemingly endless wights couldn't come close to the Custodes and were dealt with, as Valdor made his way towards the small hole in the ice, where Jon Snow had fallen in.
Jon managed to climb out of the ice and regain his sword, Longclaw. His body was shivering from the cold, his lungs took in the cold, frozen air, and he was having trouble keeping both awake and alive. He walked forward, stepping onto hard ground away from the ice, and took a stance. Despite being quickly spotted by wights, they don't target him; they target the large golden creature approaching the King in the North's position. Jon looked at the scene and was surprised when another figure appeared, swinging a flaming flail through a few wights and ending their lives.
The rider stopped next to Jon and walked towards him.
"Uncle Benjen."
Benjen Stark, who had gone missing and now returned, helped his nephew on his horse.
"Ride for the pass."
"Come with me," Jon pleads.
"There's no--"
Both of them heard a loud step and turned around. There, right in front of them, stood Constantin Valdor in all his glory. They looked up at the Custodes in awe and disbelief. The giants of this world were nothing like Valdor, and they couldn't move like he did either.
"Who are you?" Jon managed to say.
Valdor didn't answer and simply looked at Jon's sword. His face was stone cold and unfeeling. Without waiting for anything, he grabbed the small weapon. It was a longsword, but in Valdor's hands, it looked like a pocket knife.
"My name is Constantin Valdor, Captain-General of the Legio Custodes, and I hold the power of the Emperor's displeasure in my hands. I require your knife."
That was all that Valdor said, and then he turned around. He didn't wait for the wights to approach, which they no longer did for some reason, but went on the offensive. His presence changed completely. He was the storm given form in golden splendour, and he ended the dead's existence once and for all.
Jon and Benjen looked on in disbelief as the giant killed the wights one after the other. Size didn't matter, numbers didn't matter, time didn't matter... only the mission did. He didn't even stop as another icy javelin shot through the air towards him and threatened to impale him. With an offhand swing of the Apollonian Spear, the javelin was destroyed, and the threat turned null.
The eyes of Valdor met the Night King's again, and in that moment, the Night King knew that he would die. His end was inevitable if he stayed there. Constantin Valdor had put the fear of death into the dead and made the Night King flee the slaughter field, with his tail between his legs.
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First time doing this. I am NOT an expert on Warhammer 40k, and I research what I write on Valdor. If something is wrong or out of character, please tell me. That's important. Otherwise, I think I'm entitled to some 'artistic freedom'.