3rd POV – Aboard the Ember Vow, Orbit of Kharon's Rest
The Ember Vow floated like a black flame in orbit, no longer just a warship but a symbol of something new—a union of spirit and steel. At the ship's core, four figures sat in a reinforced meditation chamber: Shawn Newman, Vulkar, Tahak, and Basur.
Each of them radiated presence, but it was Shawn whose body pulsed with something stranger—liquid Haki. The silvery-black mass shimmered like molten metal as it seeped into the walls, strengthening the Gellar Field in ways no Magos could comprehend.
Only Shawn could produce this form of living spirit, born from the boundless depths of his soul. Vulkar's Haki burned hot, Tahak's flowed swift, and Basur's struck like a hammer—but none could manifest the dense, fluid projection that bled from Shawn's very being.
As they reinforced the ship, Basur cracked his knuckles. "Feels tighter than ceramite now."
"Better," Tahak added. "Warp presence has dropped by seventy percent since the last jump."
Shawn opened his eyes. "Good. We'll need it strong for what comes next."
3rd POV – Days Later, Ember Vow's Training Decks
Thunder echoed through the training halls. Armored giants clashed beneath vaulted steel arches, their strikes glowing faintly with Haki as they sparred with intent.
Vulkar's hammer met Tahak's bladed fists in a flurry of sparks, the two exchanging blows while Basur ran drills with the remaining Salamanders—those unnamed, but not forgotten. Each had lesser talent, yet each carried the gift of Vulkan's gene-seed and had begun to awaken fragments of Armament and Observation.
They trained as a circle—no rank, no division—under the oversight of Shawn, who stood with folded arms.
"Again," he said.
A Salamander charged, Haki flaring around his arm. Tahak sidestepped and tapped him lightly in the ribs. "More focus. You're flaring too wide."
Vulkar called out from the center. "Let your will shape the strike. Don't fight with the arm. Fight with the soul."
Shawn's eyes glowed faintly, watching them. They had grown. The non-named Salamanders now held longer durations of Armament reinforcement. Some could blacken half their armor. Others had developed limited Observation, enough to anticipate simple threats.
But none could replicate his liquid Haki.
Later, in private, Basur said it aloud. "That form of yours... it's more than projection. It reshapes reality."
Shawn nodded. "Because my Will is unbound. Not locked by genetics or the Warp. It's mine alone. But you—" he placed a hand on Basur's chestplate, "—carry Vulkan's fire. Your growth is yours."
Basur grunted. "Then we'll burn brighter."
3rd POV – Shipyard Bay, Armor Enhancements
In the forges of the Ember Vow, Magos Eristan watched with crossed mechadendrites as Shawn moved through the armored racks.
The Salamanders stood still while he placed a hand upon their armor, his liquid Haki seeping into the very ceramite and plasteel. Runes shimmered. Plates darkened with metallic sheen.
"Warp resistance increased by 32%," Eristan muttered, scanning the changes. "Unquantifiable psychic shielding... curious."
Inquisitor Valen stepped beside him. "He is turning them into paragons."
Eristan shook his head. "He's turning them into something else."
Shawn Newman POV – Command Chamber
Our next destination came into view: Gathis Primus, an agri-world that had been turned into a death world by Ork infestation and tectonic corruption.
I stood with Vulkar, Tahak, and Basur—my core. Around us gathered the newly pledged Astartes: Serkan of the Raven Guard, Vorn the Black Templar, Solan the Ultramarine, Gaius of the Carcharodons, and Hekor the Iron Hands Techmarine.
Each of them brought a unique will. Not just skill, but leadership.
They looked at me, waiting.
"I don't need you to kneel," I said. "But if you stand with me, then understand—this is not just war. It's a cleansing. We burn away the dark with our will."
Serkan nodded first. "Then let us light the match."
3rd POV – Descent to Gathis Primus
The Ember Vow broke through the corrupted skies. Clouds of ash covered the sun. Below lay a world overrun by orks, their fortresses stitched together with scrap and skulls.
The drop-pods landed in formation. Mortals followed behind, setting up staging zones, supported by tech-priests and Valen's stormtroopers.
The first battle was brutal.
Giant Wartrukks barreled through crumbling cityscapes. Mega-nobz roared with twin chainblades. A Gargant lumbered in the distance.
Shawn's twin blades carved through a squad of nobz in seconds. Vulkar shattered the ground beneath a scrap tank, flipping it like a toy. Tahak zipped between cover, predicting flanks before they formed.
Basur charged a killa-kan, tore the pilot out, and crushed him barehanded.
Behind them, the new Astartes worked in sync. Vorn's strikes glowed with holy flame. Gaius threw an entire ork from a watchtower. Hekor locked a deff-dread in place with grav-magnets before slamming it with his fist.
Mortals watched in stunned awe. "They fight like a myth," one whispered. "Is he a Primarch?"
"No," a tech-priest murmured. "Something older."
3rd POV – Later That Night
They circled around the central fire near the staging zone. Shawn and the three named Salamanders sat together, liquid Haki weaving faint patterns through the dirt as they reinforced portable Gellar constructs.
"The ship's ready for another jump," Vulkar said. "Warp routes are stable."
Shawn nodded, but his eyes lingered on the horizon. "We're not finished here. Something else remains."
Valen joined them, nodding. "You're correct. My psyker senses something deeper. Below the crust. A power. Possibly another daemon or worse."
Gaius grinned. "Then we finish the job."
Shawn stood. "No mercy. We press the fire deeper."
And the crusade continued.