40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 812, Section 9: Walking with Fire (Part 1, 6K)

Consciousness returned; his ability to think was the best proof, but his senses were still absent. He still couldn't see or hear anything. In the darkness, all was silent; time seemed to cease to exist until the pain returned, and only then did his vision regain.

The stinging sensation felt like needles piercing his eyeballs, causing tears to well up, only to be evaporated by the intense heat. He suppressed the urge to cough and simply took deep breaths. A powerful tinnitus erupted after the fourth time, the sharp buzzing making him involuntarily let out a low growl, but he could finally see his surroundings clearly again.

He saw flickering flames, crystallized ground. Smoke drifted, black as coal, obscuring the distance and the sky. He shook his head, banishing the pain, recalling everything, finally remembering who he was, and who had created this hellish scene.
He looked down at his right hand and found that the dark skin had disappeared, leaving only bones intertwined with some carbonized flesh, which at first glance even looked like a deformed warhammer.

He tried to spread his five fingers, but to no avail. He then tried to pry his fingers open with his left hand, but that was also useless.

Norn Corbene raised his hand to wipe his face, then began to ponder why he hadn't died.

He is a Fireborn, a son of Vulcan, and carries his blood—that much is certain. Moreover, he is the Hammer of Ashes, possessing greater resistance to fire and the ability to summon dragonfire compared to his brothers in the Mother Order.

But it's strange that he didn't vanish into thin air.

But now is not the time to think.

Norn swept these thoughts into the depths of his mind, got up, and continued to observe himself. He saw several severe burns, but fortunately, the bleeding had stopped. Bacterial infection was usually not something Astartes could consider.

He tried to take a few steps, but staggered. Something seemed wrong in his brain, so much so that he couldn't even keep his balance.

With no other choice, he had to stop temporarily and try to wait for the dizziness to subside, but his hearing returned to normal almost entirely first.

Amid the intense roar of the flames, he heard a strange creaking sound.

The giant, engulfed in flames, gazed with its crimson eyes at a spot beyond the flames, and then walked towards it step by step.

He no longer needed to clench his fist; his left hand was now weak, and his right hand, from the elbow down, had lost all feeling, like a hammer cast in the sand—and a hammer is naturally easier to use than a fist.
With a rage he himself was unaware of, Norn passed through the flames and saw a viscous, asphalt-like substance writhing in the fire.

The sound was like a wail.

He walked over, stepped on one of the larger pieces, and kicked it into the curtain of fire.

The peculiar flames originating from beneath the extinct volcano appeared almost pure white, deceptively harmless and even somewhat aesthetically pleasing. But anything that fell into them began to melt rapidly, accompanied by a constant crackling sound. Ultimately, it vanished into the fire, leaving no trace.

Norn turned his head and looked at those who were still convulsing on the ground.

A few minutes later, he stepped out of the increasingly intense flames and began to observe his surroundings.

The quarry was already a deep pit due to years of mining, and its depth is now unknown after he used the Fire Dragon Emblem to escape.

Norn had no choice but to choose a direction and keep walking until he found an unmelted rock face a few hundred meters away. He waved his right hand, knocked off several large rocks, stacked them together, climbed up, and then leaped to the top of the rock face.

Using this acceleration, his disabled right hand pierced deep into the rock like a steel nail, while his feet clung tightly to the steep rock face, barely finding a foothold. However, this was not to find a way out, but to scout.

He carefully scanned every inch of the pit, searching for any remaining darkness among the flames and molten stone.
A few minutes later, he jumped down, landed, bent over, pressed his left ear to the ground, and began to listen.

The extraordinary perception brought about by the modification surgery once again came into play. Hundreds of different sounds were captured, then broken down and categorized one by one. Finally, he straightened up and walked straight in one direction.

He stopped in front of a ruin. For some reason, many pre-cut stones were piled up in front of him, layer upon layer. And thanks to the fact that this place was far from the fire, it was not completely vaporized like the other buildings in the quarry.

Norn stared at it coldly, then approached it and waved his right hand again.

He was starting to get used to the feeling, and even started to like it—the stones were being smashed to pieces by his bones like fragile ordinary glass, one after another, and soon he had carved out a path.

However, what awaited him at the end of the road was not the young man he expected, but a group of terrified and battered tribesmen.

Two Ember soldiers were guarding ahead of them. When they saw him, their initial wariness vanished instantly, replaced by ecstatic smiles.

They saluted and shouted, but Norn remained silent.

He tried clenching his right hand repeatedly, and the pain from the non-existent nerves and flesh was real.

"Sir?" One of the soldiers sensed something was wrong and spoke cautiously. "What happened? Where is the captain?"

Ashhammer walked toward him, extending his still trembling, weak left hand and gripping his neck.

The soldier struggled at first, but as Norn closed his fingers, he stopped moving. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his face was bluish-purple, and he showed no signs of life.

Another soldier stared blankly at the scene, muttering a whispered phrase: "The Emperor."

Norn looked at him, and the soldier finally realized the situation belatedly. But instead of running away, he drew his combat sword and stood in front of Ash Hammer and the civilians.

The initial fear and confusion have passed, leaving only a trembling determination.
Imperfect, not hard, but still a kind of determination that allowed him to stand where he belonged with a clear mind.

"Company Commander Norn!" he shouted, his voice laced with feigned sternness. "Are you insane?!"

I hope so. Ashhammer thought. I hope this is all just an illusion.

But the badge that was stuck in my right hand kept reminding me that I wasn't crazy.

He took a step forward, and the high temperature he exhaled made the soldiers feel as if they were facing a formidable enemy.

"Don't come any closer!" he roared, raising the knife. "In the name of the Emperor and Vulcan, if you have any sense left, don't come any closer!"

Norn punched him in the chest.

The punch wasn't heavy; it was even the lightest of all the punches he'd ever thrown, yet it still sent the soldier sprawling to the ground. Despite this, the knife remained stuck in his hand.

The tribespeople—children, the elderly, and mothers—didn't dare to breathe.

They huddled together, with the old man at the front, and a few brave children following behind to protect those behind them. The mothers pressed the crying toddlers down, their expressions filled with fear, yet also with hidden hatred.

At this moment, only a genius knew how much Norn wished it were all just an illusion; he even began to hope that he was being misled by Chaos. His brothers were on their way; they were nearby and had already found him.
He waited, feeling as if he were in an ice cellar even though he was standing in the middle of a fire, and just stood there waiting in front of the two corpses.

But what he was waiting for did not come.

No one pointed a gun at him, and no one yelled at him. The only sound was the crunching of the two corpses, which sounded almost like an old man with bad teeth chewing on a piece of meat that was cut too thick and overcooked.

Norn closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was nothing left inside.

He walked toward them.

Only after he had finished doing all that could be heard the roar of the gunboat's engine in the sky.
-
As the pillar of fire shot into the sky, Alvin Kurtoran was performing surgery on two Ashhammer recruits.

One of them had his abdomen cut open, while the other was in slightly better condition, but his situation was still not to be underestimated.

However, Alvin had spent five years studying at the Medical Association, and he could treat wounds that did not involve chaotic pollution, but were caused by recklessly challenging advanced fighter servants, in just ten minutes.
If the patient were a mortal, the situation would likely be more severe, but the Astartes are almost identical to the Groxens in some ways. The doctors don't need to perform any delicate procedures; a simple suture is sufficient, and they can recover on their own.

But the pillar of fire disrupted everything—alarms, heavy footsteps rushing down the corridor, shouts, and the incessant sounds of vehicles taking off. Alvin couldn't help but find it somewhat amusing that the recruits, who had been sitting quietly on the operating table, were gradually becoming increasingly anxious.

Although he didn't know exactly what had happened, it was clearly not something that these two new recruits, who had served for less than twenty years, should be involved in.
He quickened his pace and finished the surgery quickly. However, the door to the medical room was opened from the outside before it could be opened.

The adjutant of the Third Company, Aiken, walked in, his own fully-crafted power armor gleaming in the pale light of the medical room.

It wasn't particularly ornate, with only some embossing on the right shoulder armor. The more detailed features stemmed from Aiken's distinctive pragmatism. For example, an extra belt, four additional magazine slots, a thicker helmet, and adjusted circular goggles—all of these contributed to an aura of menace that captivated warriors far more than any exquisite or ornate design.

Alvin glanced down and saw the two recruits' eyes filled with envy.

He chuckled and asked, "What brings you here, adjutant?"

“You two,” Aiken said to the recruits. “Go to the armory, change into your power armor, and then go to Hangar 2 to prepare for the mission.”

Yawei frowned, instinctively wanting to dissuade the practice of sending wounded soldiers to the front lines, but he immediately realized something was wrong.

He had initially assumed the towering flames were from a massive volcano erupting prematurely during the trial, but now he realized the situation was likely ten times worse. Aiken's next words confirmed his suspicions: the adjutant removed his helmet, revealing a complex expression, and then slowly began to speak.

"Seven hours ago, the company commander and a group of soldiers from the 12th Regiment of the Embers set off together. They were originally going to carry out the Primarch's orders to persuade the tribespeople to enter Sanctuary City for refuge in advance, but they changed course midway and landed at the airport at the top of the Dragonspine Mountains."

"Based on intelligence from the troops stationed at the airport, they went to a nearby abandoned quarry. In recent months, it has become the settlement of a large united tribe. The pillar of fire rose from there."

"Why are you telling me this?" After a brief silence, Alvin asked cautiously. "This is an internal matter of your chapter. In principle, as the apothecary appointed by the association, I shouldn't know about it."

This time, the adjutant of the Third Company did not answer immediately. He simply turned around and walked out of the medical room. After thinking for a few seconds, Crow Guard took off his apothecary's robe and followed him.

The two walked side by side down the now-empty corridor. They arrived at the tactical room of the base, which was deserted, but the large screen in the center was lit up.

On the screen, a battered Astartes sits outside a raging fire, receiving medical treatment, his eyes bloodshot.

Alvin frowned deeply.

On the other end of the screen, Norn Corbene wasted no time. He calmly described in detail what had happened not long ago, without omitting anything, even including the changes that occurred to the corpses of the two soldiers and the remaining tribesmen after he killed them.

The adjutant then continued the conversation, recounting what the child he had brought back had mentioned about evil spirits that morning.

After the two finished speaking, the Dark Raven Guard's expression became extremely solemn, as if he had recalled some unpleasant events.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

On the screen, Ash Hammer smiled, his bloodied face twitching as thick blood dripped down his face.

“I’ve always admired your character, Alvin, but I must explain the full implications to you. There are seven sanctuary cities on Nocturne, six of which are ruled by their own people. Only the royal city of Hesiod is different. It is the home of Vulcan, the largest sanctuary city, and its inhabitants all possess honorary titles, either nobles in name or in reality.”

"Moreover, many leaders of large tribes own houses or small territories here. It can be said that this is the political center of Nocturne Star. For this reason, the mother group has not stationed too many combat brothers here, with only a small team of ten people permanently stationed. They do not want to exert too much influence here, after all, Nocturne Star is not ruled by the sons of the fire dragon."

"And the daily foot traffic in Hesiod is astronomical, in that case—"

He paused briefly, his cheek twitching. A medical probe was inserted into his right shoulder, infusing it with a complex medical solution to preserve the remaining regenerative muscle tissue in his hand.

"—I think you probably already know what I'm going to say," he said in a low voice. "The veterans of the First Company at Prometheus Monastery have already come down in the shuttle. They don't want to alert the enemy, so they'll be infiltrating Hesiod. And you, Alvin, we want you to play to your strengths."

"Surveillance, or assassination?" the Crow Guard asked briefly.

“Both,” said Ashhammer. “This infiltration certainly wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I don’t believe they wouldn’t replace the chieftains and nobles of Hesiodne in the same way they replaced the people in those tribes.”

“That was an assassination,” Raven Guard said, then turned to Aiken beside him. “Understood. I’m going to put on my armor now. You can send me the communication code you use to contact the veterans of the First Salamander Company. Also, take that child into custody.”

“I have already done so,” the adjutant said calmly.

“Thank you, brother.” On screen, Norn Corbene finally showed a hint of exhaustion. “May the flames protect you.”
-
Looking down from orbit, Nocturne appears to be burning.

The numerous volcanoes, including the largest one, emit light and heat that makes it resemble a fireball, even when it is dormant, it remains dark red.

Now, Kalil is staring at a beam of blazing white light that is gradually disappearing.

It had been there for a while, and only now has it slowly faded away. If it looks like this from the perspective of the Judgement, then its true size must be even more astonishing.

The judge frowned, a few not-so-kind thoughts surfacing in his mind before piercing his heart like nails—but this time he didn't indulge them, instead turning and walking toward the command throne.

He sat down, and with a thought, all that remained before him was dense darkness, followed by an intense tearing sensation, as if he had entered a constantly spinning vortex.
After a while, a familiar voice rang in his ears.

"While it was indeed my suggestion to install a fragment of your humanity on that command seat, I never imagined you would actually use it."

Khalil opened his eyes and saw a golden light in the all-encompassing darkness—the light came from the eagle atop the scepter held by Makado, its flames still blazing.

“Otherwise, how am I supposed to contact you?” Khalil countered. “With psionic energy?”

"It's a viable option, at least much safer than the method you've chosen."

Khalil smiled. "I can't believe I'm hearing advice about safety from someone who always puts himself in danger?"

The one who held the seal raised the scepter with a grim expression, making it shine brightly: "Stop the small talk, what exactly happened on Nocturne?"

The judge squinted to shield his eyes from the light and calmly shook his head.

"It's not entirely clear yet, but I think I might have seen the flame stored within the badge that Vulcan personally crafted, as mentioned in the documents."

The person in charge of the seal frowned: "How large is it?"

“I can see it clearly even when I’m standing on the tracks.”

"So that's about half the power left? What else did you see?"

"The salamanders at Prometheus Monastery entered our communication channel a few minutes ago—"

The man holding the seal grew increasingly gloomy, and the young face beneath his white hair now looked somewhat sinister, reminiscent of his later years.

He raised his hand to signal Khalil that he didn't need to say anything more, and couldn't help but sigh.

This obvious emotional outburst was extremely unusual for him. The endless political struggles and various conspiracies had worn away many of his feelings, and even at precious gatherings with old friends, he would keep a straight face.

The judge noticed this, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood there meekly, waiting for orders from his nominal superior.

His nominal superior also noticed this soon after, and suddenly cast a cold glance at him.

He snorted coldly, but it wasn't a good time to lash out. He simply asked, "Do you remember that so-called new race created by that puppet?"

“My memory should be fine,” the judge replied softly. “Besides, the wasteland has been searching for their traces, but has found nothing.”

"The same is true inside the courthouse—if you, like me, had read every single internal report from the past ten thousand years more than once, you would find that they seem to care nothing about our world."

"Indifferent? They're probably just waiting for the right moment." The judge slowly raised his head and stretched his neck and shoulders. "They probably think now is the right time."

"In the end, this matter still concerns that entity," the one who held the seal said solemnly. "And there's the 'work' that our best blacksmith spent ten thousand years crafting. Have you seen him? What's the situation?"

“Just like the real thing.”

This unexpected answer left Macado silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was no longer as harsh as before.

"Then it becomes more than just a work of art, or a mere memory. Someone did something similar; in the hands of artisans of their caliber, the creations sometimes transcend their inherent limitations, blurring their boundaries."

He looked up at Khalil.

"You should know what I'm talking about."

“I know,” Khalil said. “So, what Vulcan did wasn’t much different from the process he went through when he created the ‘blade,’ is that right?”

Makado rarely showed a hint of helplessness: "In terms of skill alone, Vulcan has probably surpassed him by far."

The conversation ended there. Khalil opened his eyes, and in his hand appeared a pitch-black and menacing armor plate.

He casually crushed it, and a certain flame flashed and disappeared into his body, causing a new sensation.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to savor the moment—a few minutes later, on the launch platform of the Judgement, facing Serrano van der Leyef and Rentar Blacksable, he gave an order before turning and walking into the drop pod.

“I will act with you,” Constantine Waldo said, standing behind them.

(End of this chapter)