On the eve of the surgery, Gaius couldn't sleep.
Moonlight streamed through the high window of the Medical Bay, casting pale geometric shapes on the metal floor. Six operating tables were neatly arranged in the center of the room, their cold metal surfaces reflecting the faint light. By this time tomorrow, he would be lying on one of them, undergoing his first gene-seed implantation.
"Can't sleep?" Dorian's whisper came from the bunk below.
Gaius hummed softly. The Medical Bay's dormitory was much smaller than the recruit area; six recruits who had passed the final selection were housed here for pre-operative preparation. The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and some kind of herb, making him inexplicably nervous.
Dorian's figure stirred in the darkness, then a moment later, he handed up a small object. "Here," he said, "this is my family's amulet."
Gaius took the object and examined it in the moonlight. It was a small metal disc, etched with a simple rune, threaded onto a worn leather cord.
"Every Catonia boy gets one at his coming-of-age ceremony," Dorian explained, his voice barely a whisper, "Legend says it protects the wearer from evil spirits. I guess... gene modification counts as an evil spirit, too."
Gaius held the amulet in his palm, its metal edge pressing into his lifeline. "Thanks, but don't you need it?"
Dorian's silhouette shrugged in the darkness. "My old man always said true protection comes from within; this thing is just a reminder." He paused, "Besides, I think you need a bit more luck than I do."
Gaius didn't answer, simply placing the amulet carefully by his pillow, next to his mother's Imperial Aquila. The two small tokens gleamed with a similar luster in the moonlight, as if they were brothers from different worlds.
"How much do you think it will hurt?" Gaius asked after a moment of silence.
Dorian's laugh was unusually loud in the quiet Medical Bay, and he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. "They say the first implantation is the mildest," he finally said, with a forced lightness in his voice, "It's just putting a new organ in your chest and connecting it to your nervous system. The later ones are the real thrill, like forcing a second heart in, or redesigning your respiratory system."
Gaius instinctively placed his hand on his chest, imagining the sensation of a foreign organ growing there. The past few weeks of training had already brought significant changes to his body, denser muscles, quicker reactions, greater endurance, but those were natural adaptations. The changes beginning tomorrow would be fundamental and permanent.
"Is it worth it?" The question slipped out, surprising even Gaius himself.
Dorian didn't answer immediately. In the distance, the faint hum of a servo-skull gliding down the corridor could be heard, and the Medical Bay's ventilation system sighed periodically.
"My father was a miner," Dorian finally said, his voice unusually calm, "He worked three thousand meters underground, sixteen hours a day, breathing air filled with heavy metals. By the time he was forty-two, his lungs had turned to stone." The bunk creaked slightly as Dorian turned over, "I'd rather die on an operating table than rot away like him."
Gaius thought of his mother's lungs, ravaged by fibrosis, and her labored breathing before she died. He suddenly understood Dorian's choice, becoming a Space Marine was not just about seeking power, but also about escaping a tragically predetermined fate.
"Go to sleep," Dorian said, "Tomorrow, we won't be ordinary humans anymore."
Gaius closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come. His thoughts drifted back to Kronus IV, remembering the simple days on the farm, working from sunrise to sunset, his biggest worry the harvest of the fungus fields. Such a life was simple, safe... and insignificant.
Gaius only realized he had briefly fallen asleep when the Medical Bay's lights suddenly came on. A medical technician in a white coat stood at the doorway, holding a data-slate.
"Wake up, recruits," the technician's voice was devoid of emotion, "Pre-operative preparations are starting."
The next six hours were like a strange ritual. The recruits were taken for a thorough cleansing, shaved of all body hair, followed by a series of complex medical examinations, blood tests, neural scans, gene mapping comparisons. Gaius received three different injections: one numbed his tongue, one dilated his pupils, and the last caused a strange tingling sensation in his spine.
"This is a neural enhancer," the technician explained while recording Gaius' vital signs, "It helps your central nervous system adapt to the new organ."
Lunch was a bland, tasteless nutritional paste, said to "reduce digestive system burden." After eating, the recruits were led to a circular hall where a Tech-Priest in a red and white robe awaited them.
"I am Apothecary Vorlak," the Priest's voice was mechanically synthesized, with a metallic quality, "I am responsible for overseeing your gene modification process." The red light from his mechanical eye swept over the six recruits, "Today, the Ossmodula organ will be implanted, the first step in the nineteen modifications."
A holographic image unfolded in the air, displaying a complex human anatomical diagram. A pear-shaped organ was highlighted, located in the lower chest cavity.
"This organ will secrete specific hormones and mineral compounds," Vorlak continued, "gradually transforming your skeletal structure. In six months, your bones will be three times harder than they are now, while maintaining flexibility."
Gaius stared at the unfamiliar organ, imagining it making a home in his body. A feeling somewhere between anticipation and dread churned in his stomach.
"What's the survival rate?" Elisa suddenly asked, her usual directness.
Vorlak's mechanical eye turned to her, emitting a slight focusing sound. "According to data from the past decade, the survival rate for Ossmodula implantation is 97.4 percent." He paused, "However, your genetic compatibility is very high, so theoretically the risk is lower."
This answer seemed to relax the recruits slightly, but Gaius noticed that Vorlak had not mentioned the degree of pain from the surgery.
At exactly three o'clock in the afternoon, they were led to the surgical area. Long white corridors were lined with sealed doors, each with a status light. Most lights were green, a few were red.
"You will undergo surgery separately," a medical officer explained, "entering in numerical order."
Gaius was third. He stood before the door, watching Dorian and another recruit being led into separate operating rooms on either side. Elisa nodded to him, her expression more strained than usual.
Every minute of waiting felt like an eternity. Gaius tried to calm himself with deep breaths, but a certain medication made his breathing abnormally sensitive, each inhale carrying a strange metallic taste.
Finally, his number lit up. As the door slid open, a blast of cold air hit him.
The operating room was smaller than Gaius had imagined, with a slanted metal table in the center, surrounded by various instruments he couldn't identify. Two medical technicians were preparing equipment, their movements precise and efficient.
"Remove all clothing and lie down," one technician said without looking up, "chest and abdomen facing up."
Gaius complied. The metal table was piercingly cold, and he involuntarily shivered. The technicians secured his limbs and head with straps, then a mask was suddenly clamped over his mouth and nose.
"Breathe deeply," the technician said, "This is anesthetic gas."
Gaius instinctively wanted to struggle, the feel of the mask reminded him of the painful experience during his genetic testing, but soon a sweet, cloying smell filled his lungs. His consciousness began to blur, and the edges of his vision clouded with black mist.
In his last moments of lucidity, he saw a tall figure enter the operating room, it was Apothecary Vorlak, his mechanical arm extended, revealing built-in surgical tools.
"Initiate implantation procedure," the Priest's voice came from far away, "May the Omnissiah bless this vessel..."
Then, the world plunged into darkness.
Pain dragged Gaius back to consciousness.
It wasn't ordinary pain, but a searing, gut-wrenching agony that spread from the depths of his bone marrow. It was as if molten metal had been poured into every one of his bones, then allowed to slowly solidify. Gaius wanted to scream, but found his throat blocked by something; he wanted to struggle, but his limbs were firmly restrained.
"Relax, recruit." A voice came from above, "The surgery was successful, what you are feeling now is a normal reaction to organ activation."
His blurry vision gradually focused, and Gaius saw Apothecary Vorlak looking down at him. The Priest's mechanical arm had now retracted its tools, reverting to the shape of a normal human arm.
The tube in Gaius' mouth was carefully removed, and he immediately gasped for air. Each breath tugged at the new organ in his chest, bringing a sharp, stabbing pain.
"The Ossmodula organ is in place," Vorlak said, his voice still mechanical and calm, "It is now releasing the first batch of mineralization compounds. The pain will peak within forty-eight hours, then gradually subside."
When Gaius was unstrapped from the operating table, he could barely stand. Two medical technicians supported him, dragging him to a wheelchair. His entire body trembled, cold sweat soaking his freshly changed hospital gown.
"How... how... was it?" Gaius squeezed the question through gritted teeth, each word taking immense effort.
Vorlak, who was checking a reading, looked up at him. "The surgery itself went smoothly," the Priest said, "but your neural response was much stronger than expected. The organ's integration with the host is unusually fast." The red light of his mechanical eye lingered on Gaius for a few seconds, "This is usually a good sign."
When Gaius was wheeled back to the Medical Bay, the other recruits had also completed their surgeries. Dorian sat propped up in bed, his face pale, and managed a weak wave when he saw Gaius. Elisa seemed to be in the best condition; she could even sit up and drink water on her own.
"How do you feel, warrior?" Dorian asked with a weak smile.
Gaius wanted to answer, "Like I've been stomped by an Ork," but what actually came out was just a groan. A medical technician lifted him onto the bed, then inserted an IV line into his vein.
"Painkillers and nutrients," the technician said, "Do not try to get up; you'll need assistance for your first urination."
Gaius nodded, then closed his eyes. The pain came in waves, sometimes concentrated in his chest, sometimes spreading to his limbs. He tried to control it with the breathing techniques he had learned in training, but with limited success.
As night fell, the pain reached a new height. Gaius gritted his teeth to avoid waking the other recruits. His teeth chattered from the exertion, and his fingers clenched the bedsheets until his knuckles turned white.
Just as he was about to pass out, a hand gently gripped his wrist.
"Here," Elisa's voice came from the bedside, "I... borrowed this from the medicine cabinet."
Gaius barely opened his eyes and saw Elisa holding a small syringe. The liquid inside glowed an eerie blue under the moonlight.
"Potent painkiller," she explained, "only half a dose, but it's better than nothing."
Gaius hesitated. Self-medicating violated Chapter regulations, and if he were caught...
"Don't be so squeamish like a Hive City noble," Elisa said impatiently, "you have training tomorrow, you need to rest."
Ultimately, the pain overcame his principles. Gaius nodded in agreement, and Elisa quickly pressed the syringe into his neck. A few seconds later, a coolness spread from the injection site, and the sharp edges of the pain were miraculously dulled.
"Thanks," Gaius exhaled, "how did you get it?"
Elisa's lips curved slightly: "We Necromundans know how to 'borrow' things from the medical system since childhood." She hid the used syringe in her sleeve. "Sleep, it'll be worse tomorrow."
She was right. The next day, when the medication wore off, the pain returned, even more intense. Apothecary Vorlak explained that this was normal – the ossmodula organ was working faster, changing Gaius' basic physiology.
The recruits were allowed three days of rest, during which only minimal activity was permitted. Gaius spent most of his time in bed, trying to distract himself with meditation. Sometimes he would take out the Imperial Aquila his mother gave him and Dorian's amulet, rubbing their rough surfaces with his fingers, drawing strength from them.
On the evening of the third day, Sergeant Thayne unexpectedly appeared in the medical bay.
"Stand up, recruits!" His roar made everyone instantly spring from their beds, though their movements were contorted by pain.
Thayne scrutinized the stumbling teenagers, his gaze finally landing on Gaius. "Horn, come with me."
Gaius dragged his aching body to follow the Sergeant, through several corridors, to an open-air training ground. The setting sun painted Macragge's sky purple, and the distant mountains outlined like the spine of a giant.
"Vorlak told me your implantation reaction is unusually strong," Thayne said directly, "organ fusion is 30% faster than standard."
Gaius didn't know how to respond and could only nod. A breeze swept over his hospital gown, bringing a chill.
"This usually means one of two possibilities," Thayne continued, his gaze fixed on the distance, "either your body is rejecting the organs, leading to premature failure; or..." He turned to Gaius, his blue eyes particularly sharp in the twilight, "your genes have a special affinity with the Chapter's gene-seed."
Gaius remembered the astonishing 89% match during the genetic testing. "What does that mean, lord?"
Thayne did not answer immediately. He took a small device from his waist pocket, and after pressing a button, a holographic projection unfolded in the air, it was Gaius' surgical record, showing his bone structure and the ongoing mineralization process.
"Look here," Thayne pointed to an area on Gaius' sternum, "the increase in bone density for normal recruits is uniform, but your changes radiate from the implantation point, almost as if there's some kind of... pattern."
Gaius stared at the complex image, not quite understanding its meaning, but Thayne's tone made him feel a hint of unease.
"Have there been similar cases in Chapter history?" he asked cautiously.
Thayne closed the holographic projection. "There have been," he finally said, "during the Great Crusade, the Primarch's chosen sons sometimes exhibited this accelerated adaptation." He gave Gaius a meaningful look. "Only three cases have been recorded in the last thousand years."
This information left Gaius unsure how to process it. He was just a farm boy from a fringe agricultural world; how could he be compared to a Primarch's chosen son?
"Whatever the reason," Thayne interrupted Gaius' thoughts, "tomorrow you will resume training. Light courses, to adapt to the physical changes." He turned to leave, then stopped. "By the way, Elisa Cole's unauthorized drug use has been recorded. Tell her to apply directly to the medical officer next time."
Gaius froze in place. So Thayne had known all along.
"Yes, lord," he replied softly.
Back in the medical bay, Gaius relayed Thayne's words to Elisa. Her reaction was unexpectedly calm.
"Worth it," she shrugged, "we're being discharged tomorrow anyway."
That night, Gaius had a strange dream. He stood in a vast golden hall, surrounded by blurry, tall figures. In the center of the hall, a glowing seed floated, emitting a warm blue light. Gaius reached out to touch it, and the seed suddenly split into countless points of light, drilling into his skin...
On the morning of the fourth day, the recruits were assembled on the training ground. Although the pain was still present, it had lessened considerably. Gaius noticed his body felt different, heavier and more solid. Simple warm-up exercises confirmed this: his movements were more stable, and his knuckles no longer hurt when punching the sandbag.
"The first stage of ossmodula organ fusion is complete," Thayne announced to the assembled recruits, "now begin adaptive training."
The training was much gentler than before the surgery, primarily focusing on basic physical fitness and coordination exercises. But Gaius quickly discovered that his physical abilities had significantly improved. He could lift barbells 50% heavier than before, his knees no longer jolted when jumping from a height, and even splitting a wooden board with his bare hands caused only minor discomfort.
"How do you feel?" Dorian asked during lunch break, carefully massaging his chest.
"Strange," Gaius answered honestly, "it's like wearing invisible armor."
Dorian nodded: "Me too. Last night I accidentally hit the wall with my elbow, the wall dented, and my hand was fine."
Elisa joined the conversation, testing her grip strength. "The Tech-Priest said this is just the beginning. In six months, our bones will be bulletproof."
The idea was both exciting and terrifying. Gaius looked at his palms, outwardly they were still human hands, but internally, they had begun the transformation into a superhuman. He was no longer purely mortal, but not yet a true Space Marine. A being somewhere in between.
The afternoon training focused more on testing the recruits' limits. Gaius was asked to jump from a ten-meter platform, landing on hard rock. Upon landing, he felt the impact travel through his feet and up his body, but there were no signs of broken bones, only a slight tremor.
"Very good," Sergeant Talos, who was supervising the training, recorded the data, "bone density increase is as expected."
Subsequent tests included impact resistance (a metal rod struck his forearm with full force, leaving only a minor bruise) and recovery speed (a cut made by a knife on his palm scabbed over within hours).
Back in the dormitory that evening, Gaius stood in front of the mirror, carefully examining his body. Outwardly, the changes were not yet obvious, he was stronger than a few weeks ago, his muscles more defined, but essentially still human in form. Only when he pressed hard on his ribs could he feel that abnormal hardness.
"Look at this," Dorian suddenly said, lifting his shirt, "my surgical scar is almost gone."
Indeed, the red scar on Dorian's chest was almost invisible. Gaius checked his own wound and found the same, the clear suture marks from three days ago were now just faint pink lines.
"They said our healing abilities would increase," Elisa commented, "but this is too fast."
The three exchanged glances, all understanding what this meant. Genetic modification was taking effect; they were gradually moving away from ordinary humans, evolving towards Space Marines.
Before lights out, Gaius returned Dorian's amulet to him. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "it helped a lot."
Dorian took the amulet but did not immediately put it on. "Keep it," he finally said, "I think you need it more than I do."
Gaius wanted to refuse, but Dorian insisted. "Just think of it as a gift," he said with a smile, "anyway, once we become true Ultramarines, these little trinkets will be useless."
That night, Gaius placed both amulets by his pillow and, for the first time, did not dream of Kronus IV or his mother. He dreamed of himself in blue and white Power Armor, standing before an endless star sea, his Bolter pointed at unknown enemies.
When the dawn alarm sounded, Gaius was surprised to find that he felt almost no pain. His body seemed to have completed some crucial adaptation overnight, fully accepting the new organs as part of himself.
On the training ground, Sergeant Thayne announced the new training plan. "Starting today, you will learn the basic combat doctrines of the Ultramarines Chapter," he said, as a servo-skull behind him projected a series of complex tactical diagrams, "while also continuing the next stage of genetic modification, muscle enhancement organ implantation will take place in two weeks."
Gaius stood straight, feeling the faint pulsation of the small organ within his chest. It no longer brought pain; instead, it was as stable and reliable as a second heart. For the first time, he truly felt himself on the path to becoming a Space Marine, and this path, though long and painful, led to a future he had once only been able to look up to.
As Thayne began to explain the basic tactical principles of the Codex Astartes, Gaius listened intently, every word etched into his mind. He knew that this knowledge would one day determine whether he could survive on the battlefield, whether he could be worthy of that blue and white Power Armor, and whether he could become a warrior his mother and the Emperor would be proud of.
The two amulets in his pocket gently clinked together, making an almost inaudible sound, like an echo from a distant future.
On the night before the muscle augmentation organ implantation, Gaius dreamt he was tearing at his own skin.
In the dream, his fingers were like knives, easily slicing through flesh to reveal fibrous muscle tissue beneath. The muscle bundles writhed like living snakes, constantly tearing and reassembling, emitting a grating, teeth-aching sound. He woke up in a cold sweat, his fingers instinctively checking his chest, the skin at the bone augmentation organ implant site was incredibly smooth.
"Had a nightmare?" Dorian from the bunk below quietly asked. A tense silence permeated the medical bay; even the usually deafening snores had vanished.
Gaius didn't answer, simply gazing at Macragge's massive moon outside the high window. Tomorrow, they would undergo their second gene-seed implantation, where the muscle fiber augmentation organ would be implanted on either side of their spinal columns. According to the Tech-Priest, this organ would release specific hormones and catalysts to completely restructure their muscle tissue.
"I heard this one hurts even more," Dorian continued to whisper, his voice tinged with suppressed fear, "Sergeant Talos said it feels like every muscle fiber is being torn apart and rewoven alive."
Gaius silently clutched the two talismans by his pillow. Over the past two weeks of basic training, he had already felt significant changes in his body, increased bone density made his strikes more powerful, but also clumsier. Once, during punching a training sandbag, his fist went straight through the reinforced leather, yet his knuckles were unharmed.
"Sleep," Gaius finally said, "The pain always passes."
But when he closed his eyes again, he only saw those writhing muscle fibers from his dream.
The preparation for the second surgery was similar to the first, but the atmosphere was more somber. Six recruits silently received various injections and scans; no one attempted to joke or converse. Even the usually calm Elisa was pale, her fingers unconsciously tapping her thigh.
Apothecary Vorlak appeared again, his bionic eye glowing a brighter red, seemingly more focused on this operation.
"The muscle augmentation organ is more complex than the bone strengthening organ," the Tech-Priest explained, a holographic image displaying an organ resembling a pair of twin kidneys, "It requires precise connection to the nervous and circulatory systems. Any mistake could lead to localized paralysis or muscle necrosis."
Gaius felt a chill run down his spine. When the medical technician injected the pre-operative medication, the needle seemed thicker than last time, and the injected liquid brought a burning pain.
As the operating room door slid open again, Gaius noticed there were more instruments inside. Several large mechanical arms hung from the ceiling, their ends equipped with various terrifying surgical tools.
"Prone position," the technician instructed, "Back exposed."
Gaius lay on the cold metal table, feeling the straps secure his limbs again. This time, when the mask was fastened, he didn't struggle, to some extent, he almost looked forward to the oblivion brought by the anesthetic.
But this time, the anesthetic didn't seem to take full effect.
Gaius fell into a semi-conscious state, vaguely feeling the activity on his back but unable to move or make a sound. A distant sense of pressure came from both sides of his spine, followed by strange sucking sounds and metallic grinding. Then,
Pain shot through his entire body like lightning.
It wasn't the dull ache in his bones, but a sharp, excruciating pain of muscles being torn apart alive. Gaius screamed silently, feeling every single muscle fiber being disassembled and reassembled. Some kind of scorching liquid was injected into his body, burning along his neural pathways.
He heard Apothecary Vorlak's voice from a distance: "...neural connections unusually smooth...hormone release levels forty percent above expectations..."
As the pain peaked, Gaius' vision was suddenly filled with gold. He saw a massive hall, its walls carved with unfamiliar runes; a tall figure in blue armor stood with his back to him, the familiar Omega symbol carved on his shoulder plate; some ancient language echoed in his ears, both alien and strangely familiar...
Then everything vanished, and he sank into unconscious darkness.
The pain upon waking was even more intense than after the first surgery. Gaius felt his entire back burning, every breath tugging at hundreds of rewoven muscle fibers. The other recruits seemed worse off, Dorian was crying silently, tears mixed with sweat soaking his pillow; Elisa gritted her teeth, her lips already bleeding.
The medical technicians were busier than last time, constantly adjusting infusion rates and monitoring equipment. Apothecary Vorlak stood before the central control console, his mechanical fingers rapidly operating the interface.
"Gaius' reaction is the most intense," the Tech-Priest said to an unseen recipient, "Muscle augmentation rate is fifty-seven percent above standard. Recommend upgrading monitoring level."
Gaius tried to move his fingers but found even this simple action incredibly difficult. His body felt both alien and heavy, as if he had been stuffed into an ill-fitting skin.
The next three days were pure torment. The recruits were confined to their beds, receiving nutrition only through intravenous drips. The pain ebbed and flowed, sometimes slightly easing, sometimes suddenly intensifying, as if the new organs within were testing their limits.
On the second night, Gaius experienced his first muscle spasm. His right leg suddenly twitched violently and uncontrollably, with such force that it almost overturned the medical equipment by his bed. Two medical technicians rushed over to hold him down and injected a powerful muscle relaxant.
"Normal phenomenon," one technician panted, wiping sweat from his forehead, "The organ is establishing neural connections. But your reaction...is particularly strong."
Gaius lay limp on the bed, gasping. The leg that had just spasmed felt unusually light and powerful, a stark contrast to the heaviness of the rest of his body. This imbalance was unsettling.
On the third day, Sergeant Thayne reappeared. He walked directly to Gaius' bed, his gaze sharp.
"Vorlak reports your augmentation speed is unusually fast," the Sergeant stated bluntly, "Show me."
Gaius looked at him in confusion. "Lord?"
"Clench your fist," Thayne commanded, "With full strength."
Gaius complied. To his surprise, the simple act of clenching his fist resulted in a violent contraction of his muscles, his knuckles cracking audibly. His hand looked no different, but it felt like it could crush stone.
Thayne produced a metal sphere, a standard grip strength tester. "Squeeze it."
Gaius took the metal sphere and squeezed again. The reading on the instrument rapidly climbed, quickly surpassing normal human limits, then exceeding the average for Space Marine recruits, finally stopping at a number that made the medical technician gasp.
"By the Emperor," the technician murmured, "That's already the level of a fully-fledged Space Marine."
Thayne's expression was unreadable. "Continue to rest," he finally said, "Adaptive training begins tomorrow. You will need more control training than the others."
After the Sergeant left, Gaius stared at his hand. On the outside, it was still the hand that wielded farm tools and laser rifles, but internally, it was completely different. This realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.
On the fourth day, the recruits were allowed to get out of bed and move around. Gaius' first step almost made him fall, his leg strength was unevenly augmented, leading to uncoordinated movements. Dorian's situation was worse; he directly crashed into the medical bay wall, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal surface.
"Careful, recruits!" the medical technician admonished, "Learn to control your new strength, or more people will get hurt."
Adaptive training took place in a specially padded training room. The floor and walls were covered with thick cushioning material, and even the training equipment was soft-wrapped.
"Start with basic movements," Sergeant Talos instructed, "Walking, running, jumping. Feel the changes in your bodies, and relearn how to control them."
Gaius' first steps were almost comically cautious. He felt like a toddler learning to walk, every step requiring his full concentration. The other recruits were similar, the training room filled with clumsy footsteps and occasional thuds.
At lunch, Gaius experienced for the first time a side effect of muscle augmentation, an astonishing appetite. He finished three servings of high-protein nutrient paste and still felt hungry. The medical technician explained that this was normal; the body needed extra energy to maintain the augmented muscle tissue.
The afternoon training was more difficult. Recruits were required to perform simple sparring exercises, not actual combat, just learning to control the force of contact. Gaius and Dorian paired up, and trouble arose during their first contact.
Dorian gently pushed Gaius, testing his reaction. Gaius instinctively blocked, and the force of his arm swing far exceeded expectations. With an unsettling thud, Dorian flew backward, hitting the padded wall, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle.
Silence instantly fell in the training room. Dorian's face first showed shock, then twisted in agony.
"Medic!" Talos' shout broke the silence.
Gaius stood frozen, staring at his unharmed hand. He had only lightly blocked, not even putting any force into it...
The medical team quickly took Dorian away. Talos turned to Gaius, his expression serious. "This is what happens when you lose control, Gaius. Your strength already surpasses that of mortals; you must learn to restrain it."
For the remainder of that day's training, Gaius was as cautious as a startled rabbit. Every movement was over-controlled, making him appear clumsier than he actually was. Elisa tried to comfort him, but her words felt hollow.
In the evening, Gaius was allowed to visit Dorian in the medical bay. His friend lay in bed, his left arm in a heavy cast, his face hazy from painkillers.
"Didn't realize you were so strong," Dorian joked weakly, "Go easy next time, okay?"
Gaius lowered his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't think..."
"Don't be," Dorian interrupted him, "It's not your fault. Vorlak said my bone strengthening didn't keep pace with my muscle augmentation, which is why it fractured easily." He tried to shrug but winced in pain, "Consider it a lesson learned."
Leaving the medical bay, Gaius encountered Sergeant Thayne. To his surprise, the Sergeant didn't reprimand him.
"Every Space Marine experiences this moment," Thayne said, his gaze fixed on the far end of the corridor, "Realizing they are no longer human, and must relearn how to exist in this world." He turned to Gaius, "Does it hurt?"
Gaius nodded.
"Good," Thayne said, "Remember this pain. It will remind you of the responsibility that comes with strength."
In the following days, Gaius dedicated all his energy to control training. He spent extra hours in the training room, practicing the most delicate movements, from picking up an egg without breaking it to carving precise straight lines on a metal surface with his fingertips.
The other recruits also gradually adapted to the changes in their bodies. Elisa showed astonishing agility, able to suddenly change direction at full sprint without losing balance; another recruit named Rex discovered his incredible endurance, able to sustain high-intensity exercise for hours without fatigue.
Dorian returned to training a week later, his left arm seemingly fully healed, leaving only a faint scar. "Vorlak used some kind of accelerated healing stuff on me," he explained, "Now my bones should be able to withstand your punches."
As their control improved, the recruits began to learn more advanced training. Sergeant Talos taught them how to use their augmented muscle strength for more effective attacks and defenses; how to adjust their breathing to accommodate sudden bursts of power; how to exert maximum force while maintaining accuracy.
Gaius found himself particularly adept at precise strikes. He could accurately hit the weakest points of targets with a training dagger while moving at high speed, a capability that earned him many nods of approval from Talos.
"Your neural reflexes match your muscle augmentation," the Sergeant commented, "This is rare. Most recruits need months of training to achieve this level of coordination."
During training breaks, the recruits were scheduled to study the Chapter's history and doctrine. An elderly Librarian was responsible for these lessons, his voice deep and resonant, narrating the Ultramarines' ten millennia of glory and sacrifice.
Gaius was particularly fascinated by the history of the Great Crusade.
As the lecturer displayed video records of Primarch Guilliman unifying Macragge, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him again.
The battle scenes, tactical layouts, and even some of Guilliman's gestures resonated with him inexplicably.
"A Primarch is not merely a genetic father," the lecturer said, "His strategic thinking and moral principles are also passed down to every Ultramarines through the gene-seed.
In a sense, each of us is an extension of Guilliman."
After class, Gaius mustered the courage to ask the lecturer, "Librarian, is it possible... that some individuals have a particularly strong gene-seed resonance?"
The Librarian's sharp gaze fell upon him.
"Why do you ask, recruit?"
Gaius hesitated, then chose a partial truth: "I'm just curious, lord.
Some individuals seem to adapt to the modifications more easily than others."
The Librarian pondered for a moment.
"The gene-seed is a mysterious and powerful thing," he finally said, "It carries memories and traits from tens of thousands of years.
Occasionally, particularly 'sensitive' individuals emerge, whose acceptance of the gene-seed exceeds the norm."
His gaze seemed to penetrate Gaius, "But this is both a gift and a curse, recruit.
Too strong a resonance can lead to... unexpected consequences."
This answer left Gaius even more confused, but also piqued his curiosity.
That night, he requested access to the Chapter's archives, wanting to research more about gene-seed resonance.
The archives servitor, a semi-mechanized old man, reluctantly agreed to let him view non-classified documents under supervision.
Gaius spent hours browsing data-slates, searching for any information regarding abnormal genetic reactions.
Most records were dry and technical, filled with terminology Gaius couldn't fully comprehend.
But in a historical archive about early Ultramarines, he discovered a strange entry:
"...Individuals referred to as 'Primarch's Dream' often exhibit enhanced adaptability and combat instincts, but also experience strange visions and cognitive interference.
Some believe this to be an overexpression of Guilliman's genetic imprint, but conclusive evidence is lacking..."
A chill ran down Gaius' spine.
'Primarch's Dream', the term inexplicably stirred him.
He wanted to continue his research, but the servitor announced the archives were closing, abruptly ending his exploration.
On his way back to the dormitory, Gaius noticed two Tech-Priests conversing in low voices at the end of the corridor.
When they saw Gaius, they immediately stopped talking, their bionic eyes unnaturally shifting away.
Gaius felt a flicker of unease and quickened his pace.
The next day during training, this unease was explained.
The recruits were undergoing endurance training, running with weights until exhaustion.
Gaius easily outpaced the others; his enhanced muscles seemed tireless.
But midway through the training, he suddenly felt a strange dizziness.
The training ground before him twisted and distorted, unfamiliar runes appearing on the walls; whispers echoed in his ears, speaking a language he couldn't understand but somehow found familiar; his limbs automatically performed complex combat maneuvers, as if controlled by invisible strings.
"Gaius!" Sergeant Talos' shout pulled him back to reality, "What are you doing?"
Gaius blinked, finding himself standing in the center of the training ground, striking a complex combat pose, not one he had ever learned.
The other recruits stared at him in surprise.
"I... don't know, lord," Gaius answered honestly, "It just... happened."
Talos frowned but didn't press the issue.
"Continue training.
Afterward, report to Apothecary Vorlak for a check-up."
The medical examination found no abnormalities.
Vorlak's bionic eyes scanned Gaius' entire body, and various instruments checked his vital signs and neural activity.
"Everything is normal," the Apothecary finally announced, but Gaius noticed his bionic fingers inputting a series of unconventional commands on the data-slate, "It might be a temporary neural system imbalance.
A little rest should fix it."
But Gaius didn't believe the explanation.
The feeling was too real, not a hallucination, but some kind of... memory?
Or a premonition?
That night, he again dreamed of the golden hall and the figure in blue armor.
But this time, the figure turned, its face blurred, only a pair of cold blue eyes clearly visible.
Those eyes watched Gaius, as if evaluating something.
Gaius awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding.
He instinctively touched his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath the ossmodula and the faint pulsation of the muscle augmentation organ in his back.
These foreign implants were changing him, not just physically, but something deeper.
During morning drill, Sergeant Thayne announced new orders: "Starting today, you will undergo weapon training.
Real weapons."
The recruits whispered excitedly.
They were led to a new training area, its walls adorned with various weapons, from standard combat knives to master-crafted Bolters.
Sergeant Talos picked up a training combat knife: "Your enhanced strength means you can wield heavier weapons, but you also need to learn how not to break them."
He effortlessly twirled the knife, "Today, we start with melee weapons."
Gaius was assigned a standard combat knife.
In his hand, it felt incredibly light, like a child's toy.
When he first swung it, the blade hummed dangerously, almost flying out of his grip.
"Control," Talos reminded him, "Strength comes from the body, but precision comes from the will."
After hours of practice, Gaius began to get the hang of it.
He learned how to precisely channel his enhanced strength to the tip of the blade, rather than wasting it across the entire weapon.
By the end of the training, he could suddenly stop a full-speed slash within millimeters of the target, a level of control even Talos acknowledged.
"Good," the Sergeant said, "Tomorrow, we begin ranged weapon training.
Now, go rest."
While showering, Gaius noticed significant changes in his body.
His muscle definition was sharper, muscle fibers coiling around his bones like steel cables.
Simple movements revealed astonishing strength, when turning on the faucet, he accidentally crushed the metal handle out of shape.
"Showing off again?" Dorian joked, pointing at the deformed handle.
Gaius shook his head, feeling a hint of frustration.
"I'm still not used to it."
Dorian patted his shoulder, carefully controlling his strength this time.
"You will get used to it.
We all will."
That night, Gaius lay in bed, feeling the changes within his body.
The muscle augmentation organ had fully integrated, no longer causing pain or discomfort.
Instead, it provided a constant sense of power, as if he could unleash incredible energy at any moment.
But he also felt other changes, the visions and dreams became more frequent, sometimes even flashing in his waking hours.
During training, his body would occasionally automatically perform complex combat maneuvers, as if muscle memory came from some unfamiliar source.
Most unsettling, he began to develop strong emotional reactions to certain Ultramarines rituals and symbols.
Seeing the Chapter's Omega symbol, he would feel an inexplicable pride; hearing battle hymns, his blood would involuntarily quicken; even touching fragments of power armor, a strange warmth would emanate from his fingertips.
Late one night, Gaius again quietly made his way to the archives.
This time, he bypassed the sleeping servitor and went directly to the historical archives section.
With his enhanced night vision, he could read data-slates in almost no light.
He searched for more information about the 'Primarch's Dream,' but related records seemed to be deliberately erased or hidden.
Just as he was about to give up, a data-slate in a hidden compartment caught his attention.
The label read: "Genetic Anomaly Cases, Classification Delta."
Gaius hesitated, but still took out the data-slate.
The records within made him hold his breath, dozens of case descriptions, strikingly similar to his own experiences: recruits exhibiting abnormally strong reactions during gene-modification, accompanied by visions and automatic combat behavior; most cases ended tragically, mental breakdown, self-destruction, or execution as heretics; but a few survivors became legendary heroes, their names etched on the Hall of Honor.
One case particularly caught his attention: "Subject X-77, exhibited 97.3% resonance with Guilliman's gene-seed.
Experienced intense 'Primarch's Dream,' eventually became a 1st Company Captain, sacrificed during the Tyranid War."
97.3% resonance, far exceeding his 89%.
Gaius felt both relieved and disappointed.
Perhaps his experience wasn't so special, just a phenomenon within the normal range of variation.
But as he continued to read and found the note for this case, his blood almost froze: "Note: X-77's genetic resonance was later confirmed to be the result of external interference.
Involved Tech-Priest has been executed."
External interference?
What did that mean?
Gaius wanted to read on, but footsteps in the distance forced him to hastily put the data-slate back and slip out of the archives.
The next day during training, Gaius was distracted.
He made several mistakes in weapon training, once even almost injuring himself.
Sergeant Talos had to suspend his training.
"Focus, Gaius," the Sergeant said sternly, "On the battlefield, such mistakes will cost you your life."
Gaius nodded, trying hard to shake off those questions.
But when he picked up the Bolter, his fingers automatically adjusted to a non-standard grip position, yet it felt unusually comfortable and natural.
"Interesting," Talos observed his grip, "That's a grip unique to the 2nd Company, not used for hundreds of years.
Where did you learn it?"
Gaius opened his mouth but didn't know how to answer.
He had never seen this grip; his hand just... automatically made the movement.
After training, Sergeant Thayne kept Gaius behind.
"Vorlak reports your physiological indicators are stable," the Sergeant said, "But your mind doesn't seem to be here."
Gaius hesitated whether to reveal his discoveries and doubts.
Finally, he chose a partial truth: "My lord, I've been experiencing... strange dreams and hallucinations.
Sometimes my body acts on its own."
Thayne's expression was unreadable.
"Gene-modification isn't just physiological, recruit.
It affects your thoughts, memories, even your soul."
He pointed to the distant Hall of Honor, "Each of us carries tens of thousands of years of combat memories within us.
Occasionally, these memories... surface."
This explanation somewhat reassured Gaius, but it didn't completely dispel his doubts.
That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what he was becoming.
His body was no longer purely human, his bones harder than steel, muscles capable of astonishing strength, and healing speed incredibly fast.
His mind also began to change, fragments of unfamiliar memories, inexplicable knowledge, strong reactions to specific symbols and rituals.
Who am I?
The answer to this question became increasingly blurred.
In the hazy state before falling asleep, Gaius' fingers unconsciously rubbed the Imperial Aquila his mother had given him.
The bullet mark seemed deeper than he remembered, its edges glowing strangely.
In the moonlight, the tiny structures inside the bullet mark were faintly visible, it wasn't simple metal damage, but rather some kind of... crystalline structure?
Gaius was too tired to delve deeper into this discovery.
He drifted into sleep, again dreaming of the golden hall and the figure in blue armor.
But this time, the figure reached out to him, holding a gleaming seed,
The gene-seed.
Gaius understood in his dream that it was his future, his destiny, his everything.
When the dawn alarm sounded, he opened his eyes, feeling the surging power within his body and the ancient battle hymn echoing in his mind.
Whatever mysteries and dangers lay ahead, he had already embarked on a path of no return.
The muscle augmentation organ pulsed faintly in his back, as if reminding him: This is only the beginning.
The equatorial desert of Macragge was a furnace at noon.
Heatwaves distorted the distant view, and sand grains crunched painfully under their boots, as if each one protested its fate of being trodden upon.
Gaius adjusted his rebreather, feeling how his enhanced lungs efficiently processed the thin, scorching air.
"Twenty kilometers left," Sergeant Thayne's voice came through the comms, as calm as if reporting laboratory data, "Temperature forty-seven standard degrees, wind speed increasing. Mind your hydration."
Gaius glanced at Dorian and Elisa beside him.
The three formed a small squad, tasked with reconnoitering this training area known as the "Bone Wastes."
This was their first wilderness survival training after gene-modification, designed to test their enhanced bodies' performance in extreme environments.
"I swear I smell barbecue," Dorian muttered, adjusting his backpack strap, "Might be my own shoulder."
Elisa snorted, her Hive City accent sounding even rougher through the filtered mask.
"Wait till you're actually roasted, farm boy. Necromunda's melting zones are hotter than this."
Gaius didn't join the conversation.
His attention was drawn to a reflection on a distant dune.
His enhanced vision could discern that it wasn't a natural phenomenon, a metallic gleam, a regular shape, possibly...
"Three o'clock," he whispered, making a tactical hand gesture, "Possible observation equipment."
The squad immediately fanned out, seeking cover.
Gaius felt a subtle sense of satisfaction, a few weeks ago, such coordination would have required explicit instructions and lengthy practice.
Now, they cooperated almost instinctively.
"Confirmed," Elisa's voice came from the right, as she observed through binoculars, "Small monitor, disguised as a rock. Standard Imperial issue, but..."
"But what?" Dorian asked.
"Too new," Elisa said, "And the installation is amateurish. The Chapter wouldn't be this sloppy."
Gaius felt a hint of unease.
Over the past few weeks, he had noticed several small but unusual details, the evasiveness of the archivists to his questions, the hushed conversations of the Tech-Priests when they saw him, and that accidentally discovered surveillance device.
It seemed someone was particularly interested in him.
"Mark the position, keep moving," Gaius finally decided, "Report to Sergeant Thayne."
Training continued until sunset.
As the temperature plummeted, they found a rock cave for the night.
The desert night was bone-chillingly cold, a cruel contrast to the day's scorching heat.
The three huddled deep inside the cave, sharing body warmth and limited rations.
"Remember when we first met?" Dorian suddenly said, his voice trembling slightly from the cold, "In the barracks, everyone was putting on such an act."
Elisa grunted: "You were bragging about beating an Ogre in a Catonia gladiator match."
"That part was true!" Dorian protested, then laughed, "Okay, maybe a little exaggerated. But he only had one arm, and he was already injured."
Gaius couldn't help but smile.
He remembered his cautiousness when he first arrived, filled with awe and fear for everything.
Now, though fear still remained, it was balanced by a certain sense of certainty, he belonged here, no matter what lay ahead.
"I didn't think I'd get this far," Gaius admitted, rubbing the emblem his mother had given him, "On Kronus IV, Space Marines were like figures from myths."
Dorian nodded: "Same on Catonia. My father always said it was harder to become a Space Marine than to be personally chosen by the Emperor."
"On Necromunda, we called Space Marines 'Blue Daddies'," Elisa said, with a rare softness in her voice, "Kids believed they'd take away bad children at night. I actually saw one when I was little, he was executing a bunch of mutants.
From then on, I wanted to be like them."
Silence fell in the cave, broken only by the howling wind and sand outside.
Gaius pondered Elisa's words.
For most Imperial citizens, Space Marines were indeed a mysterious combination of terror and protection, superhuman strength, ruthless efficiency, an incomprehensible existence.
"Do you think we can still be considered human?" Gaius suddenly asked, "After all these... changes."
Dorian thought for a moment: "My great-grandfather still considered himself fully human after getting a bionic leg. We're just... upgraded versions?"
Elisa shook her head: "It's not the same. Bionics are external; our changes are from the inside out. Even our DNA is different."
She paused, "But I'd rather be a useful weapon than a useless mortal."
The topic was too heavy, and the three tacitly changed direction.
They discussed training, shared stories from their hometowns, and even tried to joke.
In the cold desert night, in this small rock cave, a bond was quietly forming.
The next morning, disaster struck.
They were traversing a rocky canyon, following the map to the next checkpoint.
Gaius led the way, his enhanced senses constantly scanning the surroundings.
Suddenly, a strange rustling sound made him stop.
"Hear that?" he whispered.
Dorian and Elisa shook their heads.
Gaius focused, and the sound became clearer, the scuttling of some multi-legged creatures moving beneath the sand.
Many of them.
"Scatter!" he yelled, "Something's underground!"
Too late.
The sand burst open, and a dozen Macragge Scorpions surged out.
These creatures were the size of hounds, with dark red carapaces and venomous stingers on their tails that glowed with an ominous purple light.
They lunged at the recruits with astonishing speed.
Battle erupted instantly.
Gaius cleaved the first Scorpion that attacked him with his combat knife, green blood splattering on the sand with a corrosive hiss.
Dorian smashed the head carapace of another with his rifle butt, while Elisa hit a third's eye with precise burst fire.
But these creatures were too numerous and unusually coordinated.
They seemed to possess a form of collective intelligence, attacking in concert, trying to split and surround the recruits.
"Fall back to the rock wall!" Gaius ordered, simultaneously severing a Scorpion's tail, "Don't let them surround us!"
They slowly retreated towards the canyon wall, their backs to the rock to reduce the directions of attack.
The Scorpions' assault grew more frantic, as if realizing their prey was about to escape.
Just then, the unexpected happened.
A Scorpion lunged from a crevice above the rock wall, aiming directly for Gaius' unprotected neck.
Dorian saw it, and without thinking, purely instinctively, pushed Gaius away, blocking the attack with his own shoulder guard.
The stinger pierced Dorian's armor, injecting a lethal neurotoxin.
Dorian cried out, collapsing to the ground, his face instantly turning pale.
"Dorian!" Gaius yelled, frantically slaying the Scorpions in front of him, rushing towards his fallen friend.
Elisa provided covering fire, her precise shots forcing back the other Scorpions.
Gaius reached Dorian's side and saw the toxin rapidly spreading, black vascular patterns already radiating from the wound.
"Medkit!" Gaius shouted to Elisa, simultaneously tearing open Dorian's armor to examine the wound.
The wound was bad.
The stinger had broken off inside, continuously injecting toxin.
Standard antidotes might not act fast enough.
Gaius' mind raced, recalling information he had seen in the archives, something about the Ultramarines' metabolic system being able to neutralize specific toxins.
There was no time to hesitate.
Gaius did something insane, he used his knife to dig out the broken stinger, then bent down and sucked out the venom with his mouth.
"Gaius, no!" Elisa gasped, "You'll be poisoned!"
But Gaius didn't stop.
He sucked out the venom, spat it out, and repeated the process.
His enhanced immune system fiercely fought the toxin; his lips and tongue began to numb, but the black patterns around Dorian's wound began to recede.
A few minutes later, when the last trace of toxin was cleared, Gaius collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
His lips were swollen, his vision blurred, but Dorian's breathing had stabilized.
"You're crazy," Elisa said, as she injected Dorian with the antidote, "Completely insane."
Gaius managed a weak smile: "As long as it works."
After the crisis, they reassessed the situation.
Although Dorian was out of danger, he couldn't move.
Elisa was low on ammunition.
And they were still ten kilometers from the nearest rescue point.
"I'll send a distress signal," Elisa said, taking out her flare gun.
"No," Gaius stopped her, "If we call for help now, the training will be considered a failure.
Dorian's chance for modification might be revoked."
Dorian weakly shook his head: "Leave me, you two go on."
"No way," Gaius said firmly, "We started together, we'll finish together."
Ultimately, they came up with a plan.
Gaius and Elisa fashioned a makeshift stretcher, placed Dorian on it, and took turns dragging him.
The pace was agonizingly slow, but it was their only option.
The desert seemed to stretch endlessly. Every kilometer was like a battle against exhaustion, heat, and despair. As Gaius trudged on, he focused on his breathing and his steps, narrowing his consciousness to the present moment. Elisa kept watch beside him, her Hive City instincts fully activated, analyzing and evaluating every shadow and sound.
During a break, Gaius noticed Elisa examining the monitor they had found earlier. "Anything?" he asked.
Elisa frowned: "It's not military. Look at this mark, " She pointed out a tiny symbol, "The insignia of a Necromunda noble house. Why would they be interested in Macragge's training?"
Gaius felt a chill. Surveillance by a noble house, combined with the earlier unusual attention from the Tech-Priest, hinted at some kind of conspiracy unfolding around him that he couldn't comprehend.
"Stay vigilant," he finally said, "but focus on the task at hand first."
Hours later, when they were almost out of strength, the distant sound of engines brought hope. A Rhino transport appeared on the horizon, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Sergeant Thayne jumped out of the vehicle, evaluating the situation with an impassive expression. "Report," he said concisely.
Gaius stood at attention and reported what had happened as clearly as possible. Thayne listened, occasionally nodding, and finally looked at Dorian, who was still unconscious on the sled.
"Emotional," the Sergeant finally said, "but effective. Dorian survived, and the training continues." He gestured for the medics to load Dorian into the vehicle. "You two, get in. Today's training is over."
On the way back, Gaius looked out at the fleeting desert landscape. His body was exhausted, but his mind was exceptionally clear. Today, he had experienced the danger of death and the joy of salvation. More importantly, he understood that the people training with him were no longer just companions, they were brothers and sisters, the only ones he could trust on future battlefields.
That night, while visiting Dorian in the medical bay, Gaius encountered Sergeant Thayne. "Today you showed leadership potential," the Sergeant praised, a rare occurrence, "but also recklessness. Remember, a good leader must balance emotion with reason."
Gaius nodded: "Understood, Sergeant."
Thayne seemed to want to say something more but ultimately just nodded and left. Gaius felt that the Sergeant was holding something back, but he wasn't sure why.
Dorian resumed training the next day, though he was still a bit weak. "Apothecary Vorlak gave me some kind of enhanced antidote," he explained, "and said my blood can now resist that toxin. Another benefit of gene modification!"
Training continued, increasing in intensity and complexity. They learned how to fight in zero-gravity environments, how to survive in toxic atmospheres, and how to counter the tactics of various xenos and human rebels.
Throughout this process, the bond among the recruits strengthened. They developed their own ways of communicating, gestures, glances, even a kind of intuitive understanding. Gaius and Elisa became the core of tactical planning, while Dorian was the pillar of morale, always finding ways to lift the team's spirits.
This bond faced its ultimate test during a night navigation exercise. They were dropped into an unfamiliar mountainous area with only basic equipment and an incomplete map. The mission was to reach the extraction point within twelve hours while avoiding "enemy" patrols.
The first six hours went relatively smoothly. But just as they approached their objective, a sudden sandstorm swept through the mountains. Visibility dropped to near zero, and communication devices failed due to static interference.
"We have to find cover!" Elisa shouted over the howling wind, "This wind speed can strip off skin!"
Gaius struggled to remain calm, recalling his training. Survival in a sandstorm, find low-lying areas, avoid exposed positions, and wait for the storm to pass.
"Follow me!" he yelled, leading the team down towards a rocky slope.
Just as they were seeking cover, Gaius suddenly felt a strong premonition, some kind of danger was approaching. Not from the storm, but from...
"Stop!" He raised his hand, although he couldn't see anything. "Something's ahead."
Dorian and Elisa immediately went into combat stance. A few seconds later, the storm temporarily weakened, revealing the scene ahead, a greenskin patrol was seeking cover in the same area, less than fifty meters away.
Both sides froze for a moment, then simultaneously opened fire. Training ammunition traced strange trajectories in the storm, and the low visibility turned the battle into a chaotic close-quarters melee.
Gaius, relying on his enhanced senses and that strange premonition, navigated through the sandstorm, directing his teammates to flank the greenskins. After a fierce firefight, they "eliminated" all greenskin units, but Elisa was "wounded" in the battle, her training suit was marked as critically injured.
"You continue," Elisa insisted, "the mission comes first."
Gaius shook his head: "No, we finish it together." He looked at Dorian. "Cover us. I'll carry her."
The last few kilometers became a test of will. Gaius carried Elisa, Dorian provided cover, and the three struggled towards the extraction point. The sandstorm gradually weakened, but exhaustion nearly crushed them.
When the lights of the extraction point finally became visible in the distance, a new surge of strength filled their hearts. The last few hundred meters, they practically ran, despite the pain of every step.
Sergeant Thayne and Sergeant Talos waited there, with rare expressions of approval on their faces.
"Seventeen minutes over expected time," Thayne said, checking his data-slate, "but considering the environment and combat, performance is acceptable." He looked at Gaius. "You displayed leadership again, Gaius. But also took risks again. Remember, a Space Marine is a valuable asset and should not be easily wasted."
Gaius nodded: "Understood, Sergeant."
On the ride back, the three were too tired to speak, but a deep sense of satisfaction permeated the air. They had done it, together.
That night, in the barracks, Dorian made a suggestion: "We should have a name. Not an official one, just between us."
Elisa raised an eyebrow: "Like what?"
"How about 'Scorpions of the Desert'?" Dorian chuckled, pointing to his shoulder where he had been stung.
Gaius smiled: "Perhaps too specific."
Ultimately, they decided to simply call themselves "The Three Musketeers," taken from some legendary group in Macragge's ancient history. The name had no special meaning, but for them, it represented the trials they had shared and the camaraderie they had formed.
Weeks later, when they perfectly coordinated during a simulated landing operation and destroyed the "enemy" command center, even Sergeant Talos noticed the change.
"You're starting to act like a real combat squad," the Sergeant commented, "not just tactical coordination, but some deeper understanding. Keep it up."
The final phase of training was the most brutal, a seventy-two-hour continuous combat simulation, with no rest and enemies constantly pouring in from all directions. The recruits were pushed to their absolute physiological and psychological limits.
At the fiftieth hour, when exhaustion nearly destroyed his sanity, Gaius discovered the true value of that "resonance." He wasn't fighting alone, he could feel Dorian's position and status, knowing when support was needed; he could understand Elisa's tactical intentions without verbal communication; he could even predict his teammates' movements, coordinating perfectly.
When the simulation finally ended, the six surviving recruits collapsed to the ground, without even the strength to stand. But they had succeeded, all objectives completed, casualties within acceptable limits.
Sergeant Thayne stood before them, showing what could be called a smile for the first time. "Welcome, recruits. You have proven your worth."
At that moment, Gaius looked at Dorian and Elisa beside him and felt an unprecedented sense of belonging. No matter how their genes changed, no matter how difficult the future, they had become brothers and sisters. In the cold darkness of the 40K universe, this camaraderie was perhaps the most precious beacon.
As they received recovery treatment in the medical bay, Gaius noticed Apothecary Vorlak examining his nervous system readings with particular care. "Is there a problem, Apothecary?" he asked.
Vorlak's bionic eye flickered: "Just a routine check, recruit. Your physiological indicators... are very interesting."
Gaius didn't press the issue, but alarm bells rang in his mind. He decided to be more careful in concealing his special abilities and those strange visions. At least until he understood their meaning.
That night, when the alarm sounded again, summoning them for another round of training, Gaius got up without hesitation to prepare. His body was still sore, his mind still tired, but a new certainty was taking root in his heart.
He looked at Dorian and Elisa, seeing the same determination in their eyes. Without words, they knew each other's thoughts: start together, finish together.
No matter what lay ahead.