ORK-INFESTED PLANET – NORTHERN WRECK BELT
A ship burned in the sky.
Screaming across the polluted clouds like a meteor, its hull cracked and shuddering with Warp-born stress. Shimmering coils of psychic discharge trailed behind it like ethereal chains dragging it toward damnation.
It was no mere vessel.
It was a craft of the Imperial Inquisition.
Its cargo: a psyker-inquisitor, his elite entourage, and a fragment of an STC pattern lost to the stars.
Their destination had been another world.
The Warp had other plans.
IMPACT
The crash shook the Ork wastes like a seismic charge. Scrap towers collapsed. Warbands roared in confusion. The flames burned long into the night.
By dawn, a ring of green-skins — hundreds deep — closed around the crater like vultures.
Inside, the survivors gathered.
INQUISITOR POV — CRATER PERIMETER
I stood, blood running down my scalp, robes torn and armor scorched. The ship's augur array was fried. Shields, gone. Weapons, offline.
We were trapped.
"Report," I growled.
The Magos Biologis, a spindly fusion of metal and meat, buzzed.
"Crew count: seven. Combat-capable: four. Machine-spirit: volatile. STC containment: stable — for now."
"Psy-field density?" I asked.
"Warp static minimal. But that will not last."
I nodded.
The green wave was drawing near.
VULKAR DREN POV — SCOUTING PARTY
The smoke from the crash was thick and bitter.
I led three of my brothers across the rust dunes, Observation Haki stretched outward like a spider's web. It wasn't just sight. It was intent — rippling through the world like sound through water.
We arrived at a ridge overlooking the crater.
Orks swarmed, chanting and revving their weapons.
I saw the wreck.
And I felt the people inside.
One… burned with power not unlike Shawn's. Not Haki. But spirit-wrought.
"Form up," I said. "We move."
3RD POV — THE ASSAULT
The Orks were mid-charge when the Salamanders fell upon them like a second meteor.
Tahak's form blurred, fists cloaked in thin blades of Armament Haki. Each punch didn't just crush — it cut the soul, severing strength from body.
Borus waded into the thickest clump of beasts, his skin wrapped in heavy-layered Haki plating. Bullets ricocheted off him. Axes snapped on impact. He fought not with finesse — but inevitability.
Vulkar?
He was fire made flesh.
His armor shimmered with obsidian gloss, his fists rippling with Armament pushed to its peak — so dense that it altered the air's weight. Observation gave him total battlefield clarity.
He struck with purpose. Not to kill — but to cleanse.
Orks died before realizing they'd been hit.
INQUISITOR POV — FIRST CONTACT
The roar of combat echoed into the crater.
Then silence.
When the green horde broke and fled, what replaced them were gods.
Astartes, yes. But not as I knew them.
Their movements… flawless.
Their strikes… guided not by tactics alone, but intuition.
Their bodies… radiated something else.
I activated my psychic vision.
And nearly collapsed.
PSYKER'S VISION — THE SOULS OF THE SALAMANDERS
Through the veil, I saw them not as warriors — but as burning silhouettes.
Each one a bonfire of Will and Purpose.
But Vulkar Dren…
His soul was a volcano — ancient, awakening. Not just hot. Heavy. Buried in magma was choice, something rare in Astartes.
These were not bound by duty.
They chose to be here.
They were not just warriors.
They were Becoming.
3RD POV — POST-BATTLE INTERACTION
Vulkar stepped forward, blood trailing down one arm, though his expression was calm.
"I am Vulkar Dren, Captain of the XVIII. We intercepted the Ork warbands pursuing your position."
The Inquisitor stood slowly.
"I am Inquisitor-Custos Valen, Ordo Machinum. This is Magos Eristan and my crew."
His eyes narrowed.
"You fight… differently."
Vulkar looked at the inquisitor. "we adapt, we fight for survival and for the Emperor."
Valen didn't speak. His psychic senses still burned.
He turned to the Magos.
"Analysis?"
The tech-priest clicked and chirped before answering.
"The Astartes' biofields exhibit anomalies. Neurological harmonics exceed expected baselines. Cortical fire patterns… altered."
"Speak plainly."
"They've evolved."
MAGOS ERISTAN POV — INTERNAL RECORDING
Entry 0117:
Subjects: Salamander Astartes detachment
Notes: Psychic architecture exhibits deep-layer Will crystallization. This parallels pre-Imperial esoteric systems. Suggests active metaphysical interface with materium.
Conclusion: Unprecedented. Dangerous. Worth study.
3RD POV – TENSION & MUTUAL NEED
The crash had crippled Valen's team. Their ship lay in ruins, but its cargo — the STC fragment — was intact. Repair was vital.
But the wildlands were teeming with Orks.
And the only power capable of walking freely through them now stood before him.
Unbound. Undogmatic. Alien.
Still, necessity prevailed.
"We require your protection," Valen admitted. "Until my crew can rebuild communications and stabilize containment."
Vulkar didn't hesitate.
"You'll have it."
SCENE SHIFT – TEMPORARY BASE CAMP
The Salamanders and Inquisitor's team took refuge in an abandoned manufactorum.
While tech-priests began reactivating cogitators and analyzing repair protocols, the Salamanders maintained silent guard.
Valen sat opposite Vulkar, eyes sharp.
"You've changed. Even your thoughts resonate louder."
Vulkar didn't flinch. "Change is not heresy."
"Sometimes it is."
"Then judge me."
Valen exhaled.
"I already did."
And then…
He smiled.
VULKAR DREN POV – PRIVATE THOUGHTS
His soul does not hate.
He fears.
Not us.
But the idea that power without structure could endure.
I do not blame him.
But I will show him.
3RD POV – DEEP NIGHT – SHAWN'S TRAINING
Far from the camp, alone under a shattered sky, Shawn stood in a crater surrounded by weapons he did not forge.
He breathed slowly.
Raised his hand.
Spirit Projection shimmered — not in the form of tools or blades, but in threads.
They reached out, touched rusted tanks, broken metal, shattered weapons.
And rewrote them.
One became a blade that sang as it moved. Another a staff that pulled light toward it.
He wasn't just shaping Spirit.
He was synchronizing it with this world.
His control was nearing the point of fluidity.
Soon, he would no longer be foreign here.
Soon, he would belong.
BACK AT CAMP — THE INQUISITOR OBSERVES
Valen watched the Salamanders spar with their newly forged Haki.
Borus struck with shockwave-infused fists that cracked reinforced training walls.
Tahak sparred blindfolded, dodging and countering with pre-emptive grace.
Others formed "second skins" of Armament Haki — glowing outlines of hardened will that moved slightly ahead of their true limbs.
It was no longer a fluke.
This was a doctrine.
And it terrified him.
And intrigued him.
And deep inside, he wondered…
What if this is the next step of humanity?
ENDING SCENE — FORGE AWAKENS
Deep below the camp, Techpriests activated a buried microforge.
Sparks flew.
Screens flickered.
Blueprints slowly rebuilt themselves from corrupted data.
The STC fragment pulsed.
Eristan whispered to no one:
"We'll have her flying again."
Valen turned his gaze north — toward the wastes — where a single figure burned like a star no machine could replicate.
"Whatever you are, Shawn Newman…"
"…the galaxy is not ready for you."
TO BE CONTINUED