In deep space.
A torrent of steel sailed through the void.
It was a fleet—a strike group composed of over thirty-seven warships.
The vanguard consisted of three Battle Barges, their prows branded with the emblem of the Iron Hands Legion: a silver-grey metallic fist.
Escorting them were destroyers, frigates, and two massive Mechanicus Arks—technical vessels sent by the Martian Adeptus Mechanicus to accompany the fleet.
On the bridge of the Gloriana-class Battleship Fist of Iron, Primarch Ferrus Manus stood before the observation deck, his hands clasped behind his back.
Over three meters tall, he wore custom-forged Power Armor. His exposed hands were made of gleaming silver necrodermis, seamlessly fused with his flesh and blood.
His face was chiseled and unyielding, his pale grey hair cropped close to the scalp, and his gaze was piercingly cold.
"Aurelian IV."
Ferrus's voice was deep, laced with a metallic resonance. "We were there eighty years ago."
Behind him, Karon Santos, Captain of the Iron Hands Fourth Company, stood at rigid attention. "Yes, Father."
"At the time, the Blaec House refused to join the Imperium. We subjected them to seven days of orbital bombardment and ground purges."
"I remember."
Ferrus turned around. The fingers of his necrodermis left arm flexed and clenched tight, emitting a faint hydraulic hiss. "That royal house worshipped some heretical deity, claiming they could attain power through sacrifice."
"Fools."
His tone was brimming with impatience.
"Eighty years is more than enough time for a planet to rebuild its order and now, a distress signal from the Corivan Sector Governor's Palace states that the local defense forces are being heavily routed by an anomalous power, requiring Astartes support."
Ferrus stepped up to the tactical hololith and pulled up the real-time stellar map of Aurelian IV.
On the planet's surface, a specific region was highlighted in deep red. It was a Chaos corruption zone.
The perimeter of the corruption was expanding slowly but persistently.
"Heretical powers." Ferrus spat the words out like something utterly filthy. "And a whole population of men can't even handle this?"
Karon responded cautiously. "The distress signal mentioned that the source of the corruption is suspected to be connected to the ruins that fell in Sector Seven eighty years ago. It is possible that Warp residue from back then was not entirely purged."
"Then they should have reported it sooner!" Ferrus slammed a fist into the console, causing the metallic surface to slightly cave in. "Dragging their feet until the corruption has spread to this degree... The efficiency of these bureaucrats is an absolute insult to logic."
He pulled up the fleet status report.
"Tell the Navigators to adjust our heading. Target: Aurelian IV."
"The entire fleet is to enter combat readiness."
"Inform the Tech-Priests to prepare the purification protocols."
"If the corruption levels exceed the threshold, initiate the contingency protocols for orbital bombardment."
"Also..." Ferrus paused. "Contact Mars. Ask them about the branch of the Order of the Omnissian Mind on Aurelian IV, have them provide ground intelligence."
"Yes, Primarch."
Karon saluted and turned away to relay the orders.
Ferrus looked back out at the starlit void beyond the observation deck.
Aurelian IV was merely a single speck of light on the stellar map, but to the people living on it, it was their entire universe.
"We purged it once eighty years ago." Ferrus muttered to himself. "And now we have to go clean it up again. Mortals always repeat the exact same mistakes. They require a stronger force to correct them."
A trace of dark red luster flowed across the surface of his necrodermis left arm. It was a rare metal integrated during the forging process, only visible under specific lighting.
"Then let us correct them."
The fleet adjusted its heading within the Warp, sailing toward the Corivan Sector in the Ultima Segmentum.
Estimated time of arrival: twenty standard Terran days.
--
The Base. The operating room.
Eighteen hours had already passed.
Zeke lay on the operating table, the surface of his body coated in a layer of translucent medical gel.
Beneath the gel, the faint outlines of new organs could be seen pulsing under his skin.
Out of the nineteen surgical phases, the procedure was nearing its end, approaching the implantation of the Black Carapace.
This was one of the most critical and complex steps in the creation of a Space Marine.
Implanting a neural sensory and interface matrix beneath the skin layer would allow the warrior to neurologically interface directly with Power Armor, wearing it like a second skin.
Six of the twelve mechanical arms were working in perfect coordination.
One arm used a surgical laser to make microscopic incisions at specific locations on Zeke's back, chest, and limbs.
Another arm inserted an injection probe, depositing nano-scale neural interface units beneath the skin.
A third arm followed closely behind, spraying a bio-catalyst to promote tissue integration.
Although Zeke couldn't feel any pain...
In reality, his senses had been amplified to their absolute limits by the enhancement stimms. Every cut, every needle, and the numb, itching sensation of every tissue fusion was excruciatingly clear.
Mentally, he had entered a bizarre state.
It felt as if he were floating in an ocean of consciousness, a bystander watching his own body undergo its metamorphosis.
He could see the Secondary Heart beating powerfully within his chest cavity, working in tandem with his primary heart to form a dual-pump system.
He could feel the Ossmodula secreting substances into his bone marrow, increasing his bone density until it rivaled solid alloy.
He could perceive the Biscopea weaving muscle enhancement bundles between his muscle fibers, providing explosive strength.
And then there were the specialized organs.
The Preomnor, capable of digesting the vast majority of toxic or indigestible substances.
The Multi-lung, a tubular organ providing oxygen in hypoxic or toxic environments, allowing a Salamander to breathe amidst volcanic toxic gases and subterranean tunnels.
The Sus-an Membrane near the pituitary gland, allowing the body to enter a state of suspended animation when critically wounded, giving a Salamander the ability to wait out long periods for rescue even when severely injured in a volcanic environment.
The Larraman's Organ, granting instantaneous blood clotting and rapid wound healing capabilities.
Neural nodes that heightened his reaction speeds and sharpened his senses. The Catalepsean Node implanted in the occipital bone allowed half his brain to rest while the other remained alert, eliminating the need for deep sleep and making volcanic vigils and tunnel ambushes highly efficient.
The Neuroglottis in the mouth, enabling the detection of toxins and tracking by taste, allowing a Salamander to literally taste the composition of ore veins and the toxicity of magmatic gases.
The Mucranoid, a modified sweat gland that secreted a waxy, protective layer to resist extreme heat, vacuum, and corrosion—perfectly adapted for volcanic heat and magma splatter.
The Betcher's Gland, secreting highly acidic saliva capable of corroding metal or breaking restraints, making it easier for a Salamander to clear subterranean obstacles.
Every surgical phase pushed him further and further away from the realm of mortals.
The eighteenth phase implanted the Progenoid Glands, one in the neck and one in the chest, to store and cultivate gene-seed. The Salamanders' gene-seed was remarkably stable, carrying with it their strong traditions of the forge.
The nineteenth and final phase was the Black Carapace. Implanted beneath the skin of the torso, it generated the neural interfaces necessary to connect with Power Armor and life support systems. The Salamander-specific carapace was particularly optimized for interfacing with melta and flame weaponry.
For the gene-seed integration, that initial Salamander gene-seed—having absorbed the massive amount of energy provided by the System—had already developed into a complete cluster of organs within the incubation pod.
Now, these organs had been implanted into Zeke's body one by one, completing their ultimate integration with his physiological systems.
A gene-seed was not merely an organ donor; it was a complete biological template that fundamentally transformed the recipient into a true member of that specific Legion.
The Salamanders' resilience, their innate talent for the forge, and their instinct to protect the weak... these traits would fuse with the genetic integration, becoming a permanent part of Zeke.
[Phase Nineteen Surgery Complete]
[Gene-Seed Integration Rate: 100%]
[Salamanders Legion Template Fully Loaded]
[Injecting Adaptive Training Data...]
A colossal stream of information flooded into Zeke's mind.
It wasn't a set of memories, but pure instinct teaching him how to use his new body. It taught him how to control his vastly augmented strength, how to coordinate the operation of nineteen newly added organs, and how to trigger his new specialized abilities.
There were also fragmented visions.
A volcanic world of flowing magma.
A giant figure kneeling before a child, gently patting the child's head with a hand as large as a forging hammer.
Warriors using their own bodies to shield civilians from artillery fire in a burning town.
The rhythm of hammers striking metal in a forge, as steady and resolute as a heartbeat.
[Augmentation Fully Complete]
[Total Time Elapsed: 23 Hours, 47 Minutes]
[Host Vitals Stable]
[All Organs Functioning Normally]
[Adaptive Training Data Injection Complete]
The mechanical arms slowly retracted.
The medical gel automatically peeled away, revealing the brand-new physique beneath.
Zeke opened his eyes.
He sat up, his movements so smooth and fluid it didn't look like he had just endured a day and night of horrific surgical augmentation.
Looking down, the surface of his body was covered in a thin, keratin-like tissue. It was the outer layer of the Black Carapace, which would require some time to fully mature and sink seamlessly beneath the skin.
But the power—
He clenched his fist.
The air was crushed into a popping sonic boom.
It wasn't a rhetorical exaggeration; there was an actual, faint sonic crack.
His pure physical strength had crossed a specific threshold, where the mere act of making a fist was enough to violently compress the surrounding air.
Zeke stood up.
Height... He looked at the crude measurement markings on the wall. Two meters and thirty-two centimeters.
He was nearly half a meter taller than before.
His muscle mass hadn't ballooned grotesquely, but the definition was impossibly sharp. Every single muscle bundle harbored explosive, catastrophic power.
His skeletal structure had also been subtly adjusted, optimizing the biomechanical load distribution for a superhuman frame.
He walked over to a metal plate embedded in the wall—a striking target Cogboy had installed to test impact force.
Without winding up, he threw a casual punch.
Thud!
A muffled impact echoed like a war drum.
The center of the five-centimeter-thick alloy plate caved in, leaving a crystal-clear fist imprint. The metal around the edges twisted and cracked from the sheer force.
Zeke pulled his hand back and looked at his fist. The skin wasn't broken. There wasn't even a red mark.
[Player: Eternally Loyal to the Emperor]
[Race: Human (Salamanders Legion Astartes)]
[Basic Status: Height: 2.32 Meters. Weight: 487 Kilograms (Including Augmented Skeleton and Organ Mass). Strength Tier: Astartes Standard (Approx. lifting capacity of 3-5 tons). Reaction Speed: 0.02 Seconds Standard Reaction Time. Stamina: Capable of sustained high-intensity combat for 72 hours without rest.]
[Special Abilities: Salamander Resilience: Extreme Environmental Resistance +500%, Toxin Resistance +400%, Radiation Resistance +600%. Forge Affinity: Metalcraft Skill Learning Efficiency +300%. Guardian Instinct: Willpower checks +200% when protecting non-combatants.]
[Organ Functionality Integrity: 100%. Black Carapace Maturity: 83% (Expected to fully mature in 1 day).]
Zeke looked at the data and slowly exhaled.
He did it. He really did it.
From an ordinary player waking up in an abandoned manufactorum a month ago, to a genuine Space Marine now.
Using a mortal body to rival the gods. On this path, they had only just taken their very first step.