That was when he was still young, only two or three hundred years old.
In a cave, he waved a piece of charred wood in his hand.
Using it as a pen, he danced across the stone wall.
His strokes were joyful and melodic.
The painting depicted many living things: penned cattle and sheep, wild beasts, flourishing vegetation, strange and mischievous spirits.
There were people too.
People he knew, such as Uncle Orl, the shepherd next door; and many more whom he was not yet familiar with.
At the very center of the mural stood a magnificent throne.
He sat upon it, smiling.
This was neither art nor decoration, but a commemoration.
A commemoration of the future.
It came from revelations he had sensed from lively spirits beyond the known universe.
Just as he had originated from the essence of countless Shaman Souls, these harmonious and benevolent spirits were residents of a deeper spiritual world.
There, they taught him magic and prophecy, allowing him to glimpse a corner of a future filled with light.
With beautiful hopes for the future, they danced and sang together.
Crack.
A short snapping sound came from his hand.
The charcoal in his hand broke.
And so did the beautiful mural, along with the false friendship.
In his terrified eyes, the demons tore away their spirit disguises, revealing their true faces lined with fangs.
They laughed wantonly as they frantically devoured the future he had painted.
Countless droplets seeped from the dry stone wall, soaking his work into a pitch-black, lightless wash of charcoal.
Animals, plants, people—all blurred into a single mass of black ink.
There were no other colors left.
And he, seated upon the throne, gradually merged with the throne behind him.
In the mural, the moisture bled through his eye sockets, leaving black tears streaming down his face.
The future in the painting had been destroyed.
Those spirits he had once thought kind had torn it apart with savage grins.
He had been wrong.
Wrong from the very beginning.
The souls from beyond the world had never been friendly.
They had merely concealed their venomous fangs, waiting for trust, waiting for the perfect moment to bite.
And once the time was right, they would reveal their true intent: devour and enslave every human soul and spirit, draining them of their last drop of blood and final breath.
Humanity's future, his future, would be submerged in boundless darkness forever, just like this painting.
Forever.
He sat cross-legged beneath the ruined mural, his chin resting on his hand.
Through the weaving of Sympathetic Magic, he saw the three largest and most dangerous dreadful existences.
Like three unconquerable mountains, they cast shadows that blotted out the sky and covered all of humanity's future in darkness.
There might even be more in the future.
Four, five. No.
Eight.
Eight demons, in eight directions.
Countless, endless enemies, neither living nor dead.
The torchlight flickered, illuminating his sorrowful face.
Where could the future go from here?
A hot tear rolled down his cheek.
Perhaps it was for himself.
Perhaps it was for the people he loved.
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 from the other side of the soul.
You saw the doubt and distrust in his eyes.
But you believed he would recognize your sincerity.
You gave him the cluster of golden-red flame in your hand.
The flame glimmered faintly, driving away the darkness, burning away the black stains on the stone wall, and scorching the demons until they scattered in flight.
The painting that symbolized the future finally found a turning point.
You saw the surprise and joy in his eyes.
You told him:
Your people, like him, had once been troubled by these demons.
But so long as they could raise this flame high, no evil spirit, no ghost or demon would have anywhere to hide.
Under your persuasion, he cautiously and vigilantly cradled the flame, tending to it with care.
On this day, he saw the Warp for what it truly was.
Then, he obtained fire.
"Whew!"
Kasgar felt as though he were submerged in icy water, struggling to swim to the surface.
He abruptly sat up and looked around.
The room's walls were snow-white, while Medi-servitors moved slowly back and forth on rollers.
Aside from the operating bed, Melusine stood in the room with her power armor and signature surgical-tool backpack, her back turned toward him.
"Awake?"
She asked Kasgar without turning around.
".Yeah."
"Where is this? What time is it now?"
Cold sweat soaked his back.
Everything between heaven and earth became clearer and slower in his eyes.
It was as though he had been fitted with a high-definition camera, every detail of the world captured in full.
Had the modification been completed?
He immediately stood up. Though he staggered slightly while adapting to his new body, his movements were still far faster than before.
And the entire room seemed to have shrunk considerably.
Even Melusine, who had once looked exceptionally tall, was now a full head shorter than him.
Looking down at his own body, his muscles had expanded noticeably compared to the past, fit and powerful like a classical Greek sculpture without appearing cumbersome.
Kasgar moved his limbs as though showing them off.
It felt pretty good.
After their modifications, Space Marines of the Third Legion were generally more nimble and slender. That was one of the traits brought by their Gene-seed.
Their hair also tended to bleach into silver-white, but judging from his reflection in the machinery beside him, Kasgar's facial appearance had not changed much.
The main change was still his build.
A little tall.
Now he was one of the tall ones too.
"Terra."
"Your initial modification took roughly three months."
"Those Adeptus Custodes finished modifying you in the Emperor's laboratory, then threw you to me to complete the remaining steps. They said the earlier procedures were classified."
She seemed rather unhappy.
For her, being unable to personally visit the secret laboratory beneath the Imperial Palace on Terra was truly a great regret.
As they spoke, the instrument behind Kasgar completed its scan.
"Height: 8'5'' (2.56 m). Slightly tall. But considering the special method of modification, still within a reasonable range."
"His power armor may require additional alterations or custom fitting."
"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 a bee had stung his arm.
"Pain perception normal."
Then he saw a mechanical limb from behind her stab fiercely toward him.
Perhaps when Kasgar had still been an ordinary mortal, such a swift attack would have been impossible to evade. But in his eyes at this moment, the machine was absurdly slow.
He immediately reached out and caught it.
"Nanosecond-level reaction speed. Pass."
"By all rights, the anesthetic shouldn't have worn off yet." Melusine expressionlessly recorded several readings on a Servitor. "How did you wake up?"
"Um."
Kasgar recalled the dream from before and fell into thought.
Uh. Had he been passing the flame to Old Man Huang?
Could he say that?
Better hide it.
"I dreamed you turned into a bald old man with white hair, then cackled creepily while pouring—"
Bang!
This time, he saw her fist flying straight toward his face at incredible speed.
He saw it perfectly clearly.
He raised a hand to block it.
"Argh!"
But the strength of power armor was not something a half-modified recruit like him could contend with.
"Intelligence level: no higher than an Ogryn Barbarian."
Melusine said expressionlessly.
This work contains a certain degree of secondary creation regarding Warhammer's setting, power system, and origins.
If that results in any OOC, please forgive it.
Thank you for your understanding.
Before you continue