In the heart of the Warp, a bubble of imposed reality persisted, defying the centuries. The great city of Urdak was no longer merely under construction; it was expanding, a megalopolis of slender towers and impossible structures, all of immaculate white and gleaming gold. Above it, where there should have been only psychic chaos, shone a magnificent blue and gold sun. Its light, pure and ordered, bathed the city, pushing back the corrupting influences of the Immaterium. Between the sun and the city, a vast golden halo, a ring of pure Maykr energy, rotated slowly, channeling the blessing of the Khan Maykr and reinforcing the stability of this sanctuary.
The Seraphim, still in his majestic white and gold form, traversed the outskirts of his domain. His golden scepter pulsed softly, serving as both a cane and a focus for his power. His mission was no longer just to build, but to populate and defend his fortress. The Maykr Servitors, those former demons reprogrammed, were perfect laborers, but poor warriors. He needed a guard, an army capable of understanding the threat and reacting with an intelligence the automatons lacked.
It was during the exploration of a particularly ancient and twisted Space Hulk, a cluster of hulls fused by centuries in the Warp, that he made a poignant discovery. In the rusted bowels of a lost colonization ship, he found survivors. They were no longer quite human. Centuries of exposure to chaotic energies and Warp radiation had deformed them, their flesh marbled with bizarre mutations, some with atrophied extra limbs, others with skin hardened into a chitinous shell. They lived in terror, hiding from the lesser demons that prowled the wreck, their humanity reduced to a primal survival instinct.
The Seraphim observed them from the shadows, his silver eyes analyzing their misery. He did not see monsters, but victims. Lost souls that Chaos had broken, but not yet fully consumed. There was a spark of resistance, of will, still alive in them.
He revealed himself to them. His silvery light flooded the dark hold, pushing back the leering shadows. The mutants cowered, expecting a new horror. But the Seraphim's presence was not threatening; it was... soothing.
"Your suffering ends here," he announced, his voice resonating like a melody amidst the chaos. "Chaos has taken your form, but it has not taken your will. I offer you a new birth. A purpose. A strength to take revenge on the hell that made you."
Without giving them a choice – for in their state, they were capable only of fear – the Seraphim raised his scepter. A beam of silvery light enveloped the mutants. They screamed, not in pain, but in transformation. Their chaotic mutations disintegrated, burned away by the pure Maykr energy. Their bodies reconstituted, not into their original human forms, but into a new, taller, stronger silhouette. An organic armor of white and gold grew over their skin, wings of pure light unfolded from their backs. Their eyes, once mad with terror, now shone with a determined silvery light.
When the light faded, the mutants were gone. In their place stood angelic warriors, imposing and silent. The Seraphim looked upon them, satisfied.
"You were the lost of the Warp. Henceforth, you are its hunters. You are the Maykr Slayers. Your only mission is to defend this city, to hunt down and annihilate any entity that would dare to defile its perfection. Whomever it may be."
The Maykr Slayers inclined their heads in a perfectly synchronized gesture, an absolute loyalty forged in their salvation. The city of Urdak now had its guardian angels. And the Seraphim had found the perfect soldiers for his holy war in the heart of hell.