Nolan's consciousness gradually surfaced from the depths of the simulation, awareness returning in slow stages. The familiar weight of his own body settled back around him, the sensation of real flesh and bone replacing the phantom memories of Terminator armor and Warp corruption.
The simulation was over.
But his eyes did not immediately glance at the reward options waiting in his peripheral vision. Instead, he deliberately shifted his focus away from the glowing text, choosing to carefully review the written records that the simulator had preserved from this latest run.
His mind replayed the events methodically. The confrontation with Mortarion. The battle against Typhus. The betrayal. The final, desperate gambit with the melta bombs.
Nolan, whose eyes had narrowed to thoughtful slits, slightly straightened his back. He'd been slumped in the metal seat for who knew how long, muscles stiff from immobility. The movement brought a series of small pops from his spine as vertebrae realigned.
He subconsciously raised one palm, fingers tipped with sharp nails that he still wasn't entirely used to, and scratched at his chin. The skin there sprouted countless beard hairs that rasped against his fingertips, the sound audible in the quiet of the simulation chamber.
"Tsk." The sound escaped his lips as his thoughts coalesced into words. "Let's not even talk about the issue of almost falling to Chaos. After all, it wasn't my true body entering the simulation."
He paused, jaw working as he considered the implications.
"But as the number of simulations has increased, the various little actions of the Chaos Gods, especially the attention Khorne pays to me, have become more and more obvious. It's almost to the point of salivating." The words carried a grimness that settled heavy in his chest. "The Blood God watches me like a starving man watches a feast."
His other hand drummed against the armrest of the metal seat, creating bursts of dull collision sounds that echoed in the enclosed space. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rhythm matched his pulse, steady and contemplative.
"Perhaps when a simulation reaches a real moment of crisis, I can rely on both the Emperor's blessing and Khorne's power to find another way to solve urgent problems." The thought was tempting, seductive even. But Nolan's frown deepened as he continued. "But if you often walk by the river, how can your shoes not get wet eventually?"
He shook his head slowly, rejecting the dangerous line of thinking before it could take root.
"If I'm really corrupted, it will be a disaster beyond measure. Better not to have such delusional thoughts. Stay alert. Deal with it carefully."
Nolan's brows furrowed deeply, then gradually relaxed as he filed the concerns away for later consideration. He slowly fell into deeper thought, his mind turning over possibilities and contingencies. The hand that had been drumming the armrest continued its rhythmic percussion, an unconscious outlet for nervous energy.
Before long, Nolan's attention finally returned to the simulator's reward options hovering in his vision. The three choices gleamed with potential, each one a path not taken, each one a fragment of power pulled from the simulation's depths.
He passed over the first reward with barely a glance. Khorne's Glory Armor, the daemonic Terminator plate. The temptation was there, undeniable, but he'd meant what he said about not walking too close to corruption's edge. That armor was a trap waiting to spring.
The second reward held his attention longer. Silence and Lantern, Mortarion's personal weapons. The description attracted Nolan's eye, and he read through it carefully. A scythe that could withstand melta weapons. A pistol that could melt through Terminator armor. Weapons worthy of a Primarch.
Still, he found himself shaking his head.
In the end, he chose the third reward without further hesitation. The enhanced surgery. Mortarion's pebble kidney, an organ that had somehow remained pure even as its Primarch fell to corruption.
The moment his choice registered, sensation exploded through Nolan's body.
A sound like rushing water filled his ears, the accelerated flow of blood pumping from somewhere deep inside his chest. The noise was oddly musical, a rhythm that his heart struggled to match.
Then came the pain.
Deep in the area between his strong abdomen and chest, between the lower ribs and just above his navel, something began to grow. The sensation started as pressure, as though someone had placed a fist against his organs from the inside. Then it intensified, becoming a growing pain that came in waves, each one cresting higher than the last like an incoming tide.
The tissue expanded, cells multiplying at impossible rates as the Primarch organ took shape within his body. Muscles tore and reformed to accommodate the new addition. Blood vessels rerouted themselves, weaving new connections to integrate the foreign organ into his existing circulatory system.
However, the stabbing discomfort remained within Nolan's tolerance threshold. He'd experienced far worse in both simulation and reality. His face remained impassive, revealing nothing of the internal restructuring taking place. Only a slight tensing around his eyes betrayed any awareness of pain.
After several dozen seconds that felt considerably longer, the sharp sting of rapid growth completely disappeared. The pain simply cut off, vanishing as though it had never been.
Instead, a new sensation took its place. The subtle sound of blood flow accelerating throughout his entire body constantly impacted his sensitive eardrums. He could hear his own circulatory system working, could track the rush of oxygenated blood as it raced to every extremity. The pebble kidney was already functioning, already improving his body's efficiency in ways he was only beginning to understand.
Nolan slowly stood up from the metal seat, testing his balance. Everything felt slightly different, as though he were inhabiting a body that was almost, but not quite, the same as the one he'd sat down in. The change was subtle but undeniable.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs completely, then turned and walked toward the training ground. He needed to understand what had changed, needed to measure the differences before he could trust them in combat.
The training ground welcomed him with familiar sights and sounds. Lights blazed bright overhead, illuminating every corner of the empty space. No one else was here at this hour, leaving him alone with only the equipment and his thoughts.
The sharp-edged war scythe felt comfortable in his grip as he pulled it from the weapon rack. The blade slashed through the air experimentally, making a sharp whistling sound that rose and fell with each movement.
Nolan, already feeling sweat beginning to bead on his skin, danced back and forth across the training floor. The war scythe moved with him, gripped firmly in both hands. He made offensive slashes and sweeps again and again, testing angles and reach, measuring power and precision.
He was experimenting, cataloging exactly how much his combat ability had increased with this new enhancement. Each movement felt easier, required less effort. His endurance seemed deeper, his recovery faster between exertions.
There were also attempts to tap into whatever special abilities the pebble kidney might possess beyond simple detoxification. He focused inward, trying to sense any new capabilities waiting to be discovered.
But for now, nothing revealed itself beyond improved stamina and the constant awareness of his enhanced blood flow. It seemed likely that the organ's special functions would only fully activate in a toxin-filled battlefield environment, or when encountering highly poisonous and harmful substances that would trigger its defensive capabilities.
Of course, the benefits of this third enhancement surgery were already obvious even without accessing any hidden abilities.
At minimum, Nolan's physical strength and endurance had increased substantially. The improvement was immediately apparent in how his body responded to exertion.
He had just tentatively performed Shadow Step three times in rapid succession, the technique that allowed him to blur across short distances with supernatural speed. Previously, such an effort would have left him gasping and depleted.
Not only was he not completely drained of energy now, but the remaining physical reserves felt substantial. His stamina could easily support him continuing to practice with the war scythe for a considerable while longer.
Just when Nolan was holding the war scythe casually in one hand, preparing to leave the training ground and perhaps grab a shower, a hurried automatic servo robot came walking quickly toward him across the floor. Its mechanical legs clicked against the deck plating in rapid staccato.
"Huh? Raditus is looking for me?"
Nolan saw at a glance the simple sign language that the automatic servo robot was barely managing to create with its mechanical tentacles. The gestures were crude but comprehensible, spelling out a message from the Tech-Priest.
He nodded slightly in acknowledgment and tossed the war scythe toward the servo robot. The construct caught the weapon deftly with its mechanical tentacles, securing it for transport back to the armory.
Then Nolan's tall figure turned and walked slowly toward the foundry workshop located on the third underground floor. His path took him through familiar corridors, down metal staircases worn smooth by countless footsteps.
At this moment, the roaring foundry shop was far busier than it had been in recent memory. The noise level alone was staggering, a constant barrage of mechanical sounds that assaulted the ears from every direction.
An almost uncountable number of automatic servo robots were running back and forth through the metal passages at all times. They moved with single-minded purpose, carrying components, operating machinery, performing the countless small tasks required to keep the foundry operational.
These constructs could be said to be the cornerstone of the entire operation. Both their efficiency and capability far exceeded that of ordinary human workers. They never tired, never complained, never made mistakes born from distraction or fatigue.
"Raditus, you have a problem for me?"
Nolan swayed his tall figure into the chaotic territory that the Tech-Priest had claimed as his domain. Cables hung from the ceiling in tangled masses. Partially disassembled machinery occupied every available surface. The air smelled of ozone and hot metal.
He shouted the question while staring at the servo skull suspended in mid-air, its form easily recognizable among the countless other mechanical devices.
Because the sound of casting and manufacturing nearby was simply too loud, the constant hammering and grinding drowning out normal conversation, Nolan had no choice but to speak at significantly increased volume.
"Ah? Ah! Lord Primarch, you are here!"
Raditus, who had been driving his anti-gravity engine to zip back and forth between various projects, also subconsciously increased the volume of his vocal generating device. The servo skull's mechanical voice cut through the ambient noise with surprising clarity.
The construct quickly crossed the intervening air, came to hover near Nolan's shoulder, and shouted loud enough to be heard:
"Lord Primarch, I have bad news and good news to share. Which one do you want to hear first?"
"Then let's hear the bad news first." Nolan's brow furrowed slightly as he prepared himself for whatever problem Raditus was about to present. In his experience, when the Tech-Priest led with asking which news to deliver first, both pieces were usually significant.
"The bad news is that the displacement engine of the Valkyrie transport aircraft is truly hopeless!" Raditus's eye lenses flashed with red light as he delivered the verdict. The servo skull floated back and forth in agitation, clearly frustrated by the mechanical failure. "The damage is too extensive, the corruption too deep. Instead of spending enormous amounts of time attempting repairs that may ultimately prove futile, it would be far more efficient to completely replace it with an entirely new propulsion system!"
The Tech-Priest drove his anti-gravity engine through several rapid loops around Nolan's head, a nervous habit that the skull exhibited when particularly excited or distressed.
"Then think of a solution, Tech-Priest Raditus." Nolan's frown deepened as he considered the implications. "Without functioning flying vehicles, any of our operations will be severely hampered. Ordinary aircraft can be purchased easily enough, yes, but they cannot possibly meet our specific mission requirements. We need something purpose-built."
He paused, then tilted his head slightly as realization dawned. His expression shifted from concern toward cautious optimism.
"However, since you came to me specifically, it means you already have a plan formulated, doesn't it, Raditus?" He raised his chin slightly, staring at the servo skull's short mechanical pincers as they clicked together nervously. "So what's the good news?"
"Haha, you are indeed the Primarch who knows me best!" The red light in Raditus's optical sensors seemed to glow even brighter, pulsing with barely contained enthusiasm. The Tech-Priest's equivalent of a proud smile.
The servo skull quickly stopped its anxious circling. The anti-gravity engine adjusted its position until Raditus hovered directly in front of Nolan at eye level, demanding full attention.
"The mechanical boy in the iron armor has fulfilled his end of the design agreement with you." Raditus's tone carried genuine respect, unusual for the often dismissive Tech-Priest. "He has successfully produced the complete design specifications for the second-generation Arc Reactor."
"I must admit, however grudgingly, that his thoughts and ideas are indeed those of a genius scientist, even by human standards. The innovation is remarkable."
Raditus paused for effect, letting the implications sink in before continuing.
"In summary, based on my extensive experience and detailed analysis, the second-generation Arc Reactor can maintain stable power output for prolonged periods. Its endurance time has been dramatically increased compared to the first generation. The efficiency improvements are substantial." The servo skull bobbed enthusiastically. "In this configuration, it becomes barely adequate to serve as one of the primary power sources for flying vehicles."
"Furthermore," and here Raditus's voice took on a note of unmistakable pride, "coupled with my own in-depth understanding gained from displacement engine disassembly and comprehensive study, the creation of flying vehicles with dual power sources is no longer merely a theoretical luxury. It is achievable. Practical."
The Tech-Priest performed another small loop, unable to contain his excitement.
"In addition, I also discovered something quite valuable in the data you acquired. A detailed disassembly report concerning S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Quinjet fighter was buried in the hard drive." Raditus's tone suggested he'd been combing through the data with obsessive thoroughness. "While it is unfortunately not a complete set of design drawings, it remains an exceptionally detailed technical analysis. For a well-informed Tech-Priest who appreciates creative modification, it is more than sufficient."
"Therefore, Lord Primarch," Raditus declared with theatrical flair, "the new model of Valkyrie transport aircraft is already metaphorically waving its wings in your direction, eager to take flight!"
The servo skull's vocal enthusiasm was reaching fever pitch as he listed the specifications.
"Dual power sources that can be switched between at any time depending on mission parameters! High-load transportation capacity suitable for full squad deployment with equipment! A streamlined shell design that adheres more closely to modern aesthetic sensibilities while maintaining atmospheric efficiency! Reduced weapon module mounting points that can be equipped at any time according to specific mission requirements!"
Raditus paused for dramatic effect, then delivered his closing pitch:
"No increase in base price for additional capability! The value proposition is exceptional! Do not hesitate, Lord Primarch!"
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