The Birth of Fire

That was back when he was still young, only two or three hundred years old.

In a cave, he brandished a piece of charred wood in his hand, using it as a brush to dance across the stone wall.

His brushstrokes were joyful and rhythmic.

The painting depicted many creatures: domesticated cattle and sheep, wild beasts, lush vegetation, and strange, mischievous spirits.

There were also people.

Familiar faces, such as Uncle Orl who herded sheep next door, along with many others he was not yet well-acquainted with.

At the very center of this mural, a magnificent throne was depicted.

He sat upon it, a smile on his face.

This was not art or decoration, but a commemoration.

A commemoration of the future.

It came from the revelations of lively spirits from beyond the known universe, which he had sensed.

Just as he originated from the essence of countless Shaman Souls, these harmonious and benevolent spirits were inhabitants of a deeper spirit world.

There, they taught him the abilities of magic and prophecy, allowing him to glimpse a corner of a future filled with light.

With a beautiful vision of the future, they danced and sang together.

Snap.

A short, sharp sound came from his hand.

The charcoal in his grip had snapped in two.

And the beautiful mural, along with the hypocritical friendship, ended right there.

In his terrified eyes, the demons tore off their spirit disguises, revealing their true forms filled with fangs.

They laughed wantonly, frantically devouring the future he had depicted.

Countless beads of dew seeped from the dry stone wall, soaking his painting into a pitch-black, lightless sludge of carbon.

Animals, plants, and people all blurred into a mass of black ink.

Beyond that, there was no other color left.

And he, who sat upon the throne, gradually merged with the seat behind him.

In the mural, his eye sockets were smudged by the dew, shedding black tears.

The future in the painting had been destroyed.

It had been torn apart by those he had previously considered kind spirits, who were now grinning hideously.

He was wrong.

He had been wrong from the very beginning.

The spirits from beyond the world were never kind.

They had merely retracted their fangs, waiting for trust to be established, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And once the time was ripe, they would reveal their true intentions just like this: to devour and enslave the souls and spirits of humanity. To squeeze out their last drop of blood, their last breath.

The future of humanity, his future, would all be like this painting, forever immersed in boundless darkness.

Forever.

He rested his chin on his hand, sitting cross-legged beneath the ruined mural.

Under the weaving of Sympathetic Magic, he saw the three largest and most dangerous terrifying existences.

Like three insurmountable mountains, they cast shadows that blotted out the sky, shrouding the future of humanity in darkness.

There would even be more in the future.

Four, five. No.

Eight.

Eight demons, eight directions.

Countless, endless, deathless enemies.

The light of the torch flickered, reflecting his sorrowful face.

Where would the future go?

He shed a hot tear.

Perhaps for himself.

Perhaps for those he loved deeply.

You saw his hesitation and confusion.

You decided to help him.

He was exceptionally wary of you.

After the previous betrayal, he would no longer trust anyone who hailed from the other side of the soul.

You saw the suspicion and distrust in his eyes.

But you believed he would recognize your sincerity.

You gifted him the mass of golden-red flame in your hand.

The flame shimmered, dispelling the darkness, burning away the ink-black stains on the stone walls, and scorching the demons until they scattered in flight.

The painting that symbolized the future finally had a turning point.

You saw the surprise and joy in his eyes.

You told him:

Your people had also been plagued by these demons, just as he had been.

But as long as one could hold this flame high, no evil, no monsters or demons, would have anywhere to hide.

Under your persuasion, he held the flame carefully and cautiously, protecting it with great care.

On this day, he recognized the truth of the Warp.

And then, he obtained the fire.

"Hoo-hoo!"

Kasgar felt as if he were submerged in icy water, struggling to swim toward the surface.

He sat up abruptly and looked around.

The room's walls were stark white, and Medi-servitors moved slowly back and forth on pulleys.

In the room, apart from the surgical bed, Melusine stood with her back to him, wearing her power armor and carrying her signature surgical tool backpack.

"Awake?"

She asked, her back still turned to Kasgar.

"...Yeah."

"Where is this, and what time is it?"

Cold sweat soaked his back.

Everything in the world became increasingly clear and slow in his eyes.

It was as if he were equipped with a high-definition camera, capturing every detail of the world in his vision.

Was the transformation complete?

He stood up immediately; even though he stumbled slightly as he adapted to his new body, his speed was still far beyond what it had been before.

Moreover, the entire room seemed to have shrunk by several degrees.

Even Melusine, who had previously appeared very tall, was now a full head shorter than him.

Looking at his own body, his muscles were a circle larger than before, as toned and aesthetic as an ancient Greek sculpture without appearing bulky.

Kasgar flexed his limbs as if to show off.

It felt pretty good.

After completing their transformation, Space Marines of the Third Legion were generally more agile and slender, which was a characteristic brought about by the Gene-seed.

Furthermore, their hair tended to turn silver-white, but judging by the mechanical reflection nearby, Kasgar's facial features had not changed significantly.

The primary changes were in his physique.

A bit tall.

Now he had become a giant himself.

"Terra."

"Your initial transformation took about three months."

"Those Adeptus Custodes finished modifying you in the Emperor's laboratory and then dumped you on me to complete the subsequent steps, claiming the previous contents of the transformation were classified."

She seemed very unhappy.

Not being able to personally visit the secret laboratory beneath the Imperial Palace to see for herself was a great pity for her.

While they were talking, the instrument behind Kasgar completed its scan.

"Height 8'5'' (2m56), slightly tall. But considering the special nature of the transformation, it still falls within a reasonable range."

"The power armor may require additional modification or customization."

"Look at my fingers, how many is this?"

"Three."

"Vision normal, cognitive ability normal."

Fortunately, he was not Gabe Newell.

"Ah."

Kasgar suddenly felt as if his arm had been stung by a bee.

"Pain sensation is normal."

Then, he saw a mechanical limb behind the other person lunge toward him.

Perhaps back when Kasgar was still a mortal, such a swift attack would have been impossible to dodge. But at this very moment, in his eyes, that machine was agonizingly slow.

He immediately reached out and grabbed it.

"Nanosecond-level reaction speed. Acceptable."

"Logically, the anesthesia should not have worn off yet," Melusine said, expressionlessly recording some readings onto a Servitor. "How did you wake up?"

"Hmm."

Kasgar recalled the dream he had just had and fell into deep thought.

Uh. Was he passing the flame to Old Man Huang?

Was that something he could talk about?

Better to keep it hidden.

"I dreamed you turned into a bald, white-haired old man, and while laughing in a very lecherous 'hehehe' way, you were pouring—"

Bang!

This time, he saw her fist flying rapidly toward his face.

He saw it clearly.

He reached out to block it.

"Ow!"

But the power of power armor was not something he, a mere semi-augmented recruit, could contend with.

"Intellectual level: no higher than an Ogryn Barbarian."

Melusine said, expressionless.

This text contains a certain degree of secondary creation regarding the Warhammer worldview, as well as the power systems and their origins.

If any OOC occurs during this process, I ask for your understanding.

Thank you all for your understanding.