3rd POV
Change did not roar.
Not at first.
It smoldered — low, steady, patient — until the soul no longer fit within the frame it was born into.
And so the Salamanders changed.
Not in one great moment, but through dozens of silent awakenings. The way their hands closed tighter around their blades. The way their bodies moved with heat not from fire, but from something older. Something born before the stars.
Their gene-seed — forged in the crucible of Vulkan, the Father — had always held echoes of something greater. But only now, under Shawn Newman's silent forge, did those echoes become voices.
And the first voice to rise, was Vulkar's.
Vulkar POV
It started with pain in my fingers.
I thought it battle fatigue. Overuse. But when I focused, it wasn't damage.
It was growth.
My bones thickening. Joints tightening. Muscle forming around things no longer quite… Astartes.
I had sparred against Basur the night before. He'd punched me square in the chest with Armament Haki, cracking three ribs — and yet, when I rose the next morning, the pain was gone. Healed.
It shouldn't have healed that quickly. Not even with our biology. Not unless…
Unless we were becoming something closer to him.
Closer to Shawn.
Shawn Newman POV
They were evolving. It was happening in layers: spiritual, physical, mental.
At first, the changes were imperceptible.
A scar that vanished in a day.
Eyes that saw further.
Movement that reacted before thought.
Then came the shifts in armor. My Spirit Projection — once limited to temporary formations — had bonded to their battle plate. Their blackened armor glistened with streaks of silver, alive, responsive, strong as adamantium and yet weightless like flowing ink.
Their fists crackled when they struck. Not with lightning.
With Will.
And each of them… was growing.
Literally.
Tahak stood nearly eye-level with me now. Vulkar too. Even Basur — the brute — had put on more mass than any Salamander I'd seen. They were beginning to resemble… Vulkan himself.
Not just in strength.
In presence.
Inquisitor Valen POV
I watched from the ridge, scanning with psy-sight.
What I saw made no sense.
Their souls were stable. Not bloated by Warp power. Not manipulated by Chaos.
But their power was growing at a terrifying rate.
These weren't mutations.
These were awakenings.
Like someone had peeled away a seal hidden deep in their gene-seed — a lock placed there by time itself — and whatever Haki was, it had acted as the key.
Basur's punch had ruptured a stone pillar in one strike. Tahak had stopped a bolter round mid-flight using nothing but a twist of intent and prediction. Vulkar… his blood was beginning to shine faintly. Like magma.
Emperor help me, they weren't Astartes anymore.
They were becoming more.
Magos Eristan Observation Code: ME-Delta-9
The black-silver fluid that encases their armor is not any known Mechanicum alloy.
Observation suggests external symbiotic bonding from Subject Newman.
Their regenerative capacity has increased 8.2%.
Hypothesis: dormant pre-Primarch genetic imprint activated.
Danger assessment: Critical. Potential elevation to proto-Perpetuality if left unchecked.
Campfire Scene
The flames crackled low as night fell. Vulkar, Tahak, and Basur sat in silence, weapons sheathed but hearts burning.
Shawn sat nearby, quiet, watching their expressions.
Basur broke the silence.
"He's afraid of us. The Inquisitor."
Tahak nodded. "He should be."
Vulkar smirked. "He's not wrong to be cautious. We're not following the script anymore."
"We never did," Shawn murmured.
Vulkar turned to him. "Why us?"
"Because your Will was already strong," Shawn said. "All I did was light the forge."
Tahak glanced down at his armored hand, now capable of blackening in full, the surface swirling with barely visible currents.
"It's not just power," he said. "It feels… like remembering something I never lived."
Vulkar's voice was firm. "It's Vulkan. His blood remembers."
Training Field
The next day, the Salamanders trained.
They didn't spar. They tested.
They pushed the limits of their new Haki daily.
Tahak honed Observation — learning to read even the tiniest tremors in the ground, catching thrown knives with his eyes closed.
Basur focused on Armament. When his fists connected, walls trembled. But now, he could also shape the coating, making it denser on impact points, lighter elsewhere.
Vulkar combined both. He sparred five drones at once, dodging, predicting, countering — striking vital points before a blow had even begun. His fists didn't just blacken — they ignited faintly, not in flame, but something deeper. A burning pressure that crushed what it touched.
Shawn stood back. Proud. But aware.
Aware that something in the world around them was shifting in response.
Shawn POV — Internal
I'd grown again. Nearly four meters tall now. My gauntlets — forged from Spirit Projection — had become natural extensions of me. Liquid Haki coursed through my limbs like blood.
But something else had changed.
I could hear the Warp.
Faint whispers.
Attempts to reach me.
But they never could.
My Haki burned too hot. It resisted. It… purified.
Valen had asked me yesterday how it worked.
I didn't have an answer.
But I knew this: if the Warp was corruption, then Haki was identity. And nothing, nothing, corrupted identity like the Warp feared it could.
Valen POV — Final Confrontation Before War
"I don't know what you are," I told Shawn.
"Neither do I."
"But if you continue this path, the Imperium may not understand."
"Then it's time the Imperium learns."
I didn't reply.
Because for the first time in years, I wasn't sure whether I was looking at a heretic…
…or humanity's last chance.
The Warboss Moves
The air changed.
Scout drones stopped reporting.
Even the Orks in the northern territories had gone quiet.
Then came the sound.
Like thunder, but slower. Heavier.
A great engine of war had begun to move.
Vulkar stood before the others, helm clutched in one hand. His voice was calm.
"A Warboss approaches. One of the big ones. Their scouts bear his glyph — Skarnok the Skullfuser."
Basur spit. "That sounds disgusting."
Tahak grimaced. "It smells worse."
They chuckled, briefly.
But their eyes stayed locked on the horizon.
Shawn stepped forward. "Let's not wait for him to come to us."
"No," Vulkar said. "Let's go carve our names into his fortress walls."
3rd POV – March of the Flameborn
The blackened dunes cracked under their boots.
Twelve Salamanders.
One Human.
None ordinary.
Haki cloaked them. Will drove them. Identity solidified them.
With every step, they weren't just marching toward war.
They were marching toward becoming.
And in the distance…
A red storm churned.
Metal, smoke, and war-cries.
Skarnok waited.
But so did destiny.
TO BE CONTINUED