It was when he was still young, only two or three hundred years old.
In a cave, he wielded a piece of burnt charcoal. Using it as a brush, he danced across the stone wall.
His brushstrokes were cheerful and rhythmic.
The painting depicted many creatures: domesticated cattle and sheep, wild beasts, lush vegetation, and strange, mischievous spirits.
There were also people.
Familiar people, like Uncle Oall who herded sheep next door; and many others he was not yet very familiar with.
And in the very center of this mural was a magnificent throne.
He sat on it, smiling.
This was not art or decoration, but a commemoration.
A commemoration of the future.
It came from the revelations of the lively spirits he had sensed from beyond the known universe.
Just as he was born from the essence of countless shaman souls, these harmonious and benevolent spirits were inhabitants of a deeper spiritual world.
There, they taught him the abilities of magic and prophecy, allowing him to glimpse a corner of a bright future.
With a beautiful vision for the future, they danced and sang together.
Snap.
A short, crisp sound came from his hand.
The charcoal in his hand broke.
And the beautiful mural, and the false friendship...
...all came to an end.
In his terrified eyes, the daemons tore off their elven disguises, revealing their true, fanged faces.
They laughed wantonly, frantically gnawing at the future he had depicted.
Countless dewdrops seeped from the dry stone wall, smearing his painting into a pitch-black, lightless carbon paste.
Animals, plants, people, all were smudged into a black ink.
Apart from that, there was no other color.
And the version of himself sitting on the throne gradually merged with the throne behind him.
In the mural, his eye sockets were smudged by the dew, and black tears flowed down.
The future in the painting was destroyed.
Torn to shreds with sneers by those he had previously thought were benevolent spirits.
He was wrong.
Wrong from the very beginning.
The spirits from beyond the world were never friendly.
They had only hidden their venomous fangs, waiting for his trust, waiting for the best moment to bite.
And once the time was right, they would show their true intentions as they were now: to devour and enslave the souls and spirits of humanity. To drain their last drop of blood, their last breath.
The future of humanity, his future, would all be like this painting, forever immersed in boundless darkness.
Forever.
He rested his cheek on his hand, sitting cross-legged under the destroyed mural.
Through the weaving of sympathetic magic, he saw the three largest and most dangerous, terrifying beings.
Like three insurmountable mountains, they cast a shadow that blotted out the sky, enveloping the future of humanity in darkness.
And there would be even more in the future.
Four, five... no.
Eight.
Eight daemons, eight directions.
Countless, endless, unborn and undying enemies.
The light of the torch flickered, illuminating his sorrowful face.
What would the future hold?
He shed a hot tear.
Perhaps for himself.
Perhaps for those he loved so dearly.
You saw his hesitation and confusion.
You decided to help him.
He was extremely wary of you.
After the last betrayal, he would no longer trust anyone from the other side of the soul.
You saw the suspicion and distrust in his eyes.
But you believed that he would recognize your sincerity.
You gave him the golden-red flame in your hand.
The flame flickered with a faint light, dispelling the darkness, burning away the ink stains on the stone wall, and scorching the daemons until they scattered and fled.
The painting symbolizing the future had a turning point.
You saw the surprise and joy in his eyes.
You told him:
Your people had also been troubled by these daemons, just like him.
But as long as they could hold this flame high, no evil, no demon or monster, could hide.
Under your persuasion, he cautiously and carefully took the flame, cherishing it.
On this day, he recognized the truth of the Warp.
Then, he obtained [Fire].
"Gasp!"
Kasjia felt as if he was in icy water, struggling to swim to the surface.
He sat up abruptly and looked around.
The walls of the room were snow-white, and medical servitors moved slowly on wheels.
Apart from this operating bed, Melusine was also in the room, with her power armor and her signature surgical tool backpack, her back to him.
"You're awake?" she asked, without turning around.
"...Yes."
"Where is this? What time is it?"
Cold sweat soaked his back.
Everything in the world became clearer and slower in his eyes.
It was as if he was wearing a high-definition camera, capturing every detail of the world.
Is the modification complete?
He immediately stood up. Even though he was still a bit unsteady from adapting to his new body, his movements were still far faster than before.
And it seemed that the whole room had become smaller.
Even the previously very tall Melusine now looked a whole head shorter than him.
Looking at his own body, his muscles had expanded by a size compared to before, as beautiful as a Greek statue without being bulky.
Kasjia moved his limbs showily.
It felt pretty good.
After completing the modification, the bodies of the Third Legion Space Marines were generally more slender and agile, which was a characteristic brought by the gene-seed.
Another was that their hair tended to turn silver-white, but looking at the reflection in the machine beside him, there was no obvious change in Kasjia's appearance.
The main change was in his height.
A bit tall.
He was a tall person now.
"Holy Terra."
"Your initial modification took about three months."
"Those Custodians modified you in the Emperor's laboratory and then threw you back to me to complete the next steps, saying that the previous modification content was classified."
She seemed very unhappy.
Not being able to personally go to the secret laboratory under the Imperial Palace on Terra was a great regret for her.
And as they were chatting, the instrument behind Kasjia completed its scan.
"Height 8'5" (2m56), slightly tall. But considering the special modification method, it is still within a reasonable range."
"Power armor may require additional modification or customization."
"Look at my finger. How many?"
"Three."
"Vision normal, cognitive ability normal."
Good thing he wasn't Gabe Newell.
"Ah."
Kasjia suddenly felt a bee sting on his arm.
"Pain sensation normal."
Then he saw a mechanical limb from behind her stabbing towards him.
Perhaps when Kasjia was still a mortal, such a swift attack would have been impossible to dodge. But now, in his eyes, the machine was surprisingly slow.
He immediately reached out and grabbed it.
"Nanosecond-level reaction time, passed."
"Logically, the anesthesia shouldn't have worn off yet," Melusine said expressionlessly, recording some readings on a servitor. "How did you wake up?"
"Hmm..."
Kasjia recalled the dream from before and fell into deep thought.
Uh... he was giving Old Man Gold fire?
Is that something I can say?
Better hide it.
"I dreamed that you turned into a bald, white-haired old man, and while laughing sinisterly like 'Jie Jie Jie,' you were pouring—"
THWACK!
This time, he saw her fist flying towards his face.
He could see it clearly.
He raised his hand to block.
"OW!"
But the strength of power armor was not something a half-modified new recruit like him could withstand.
"Intelligence level... not higher than an Ogryn's."
Melusine said with a blank face.
-------
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