Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 236 Vulcan

The amniotic pod carrying Prototype 18 broke out of subspace and landed on the edge of the Nocturne volcano.

A blacksmith who ventured into the perilous volcanic complex during a period of dormancy to collect precious gems discovered the Primitive.

The young boy lay by the lava river, the lava boiling, and a monster hidden within was about to appear.

The blacksmith sensed the danger, but he rushed forward without hesitation and picked up the human baby, saving the Primarch from being devoured by the giant beast.

The blacksmith brought the original back to town and named him Vulcan.

The name is taken from the ancient legends of the god of fire and the god of forging, implying that the child will become a great blacksmith.

The baby grew very quickly, and its originally snow-white skin and black pupils changed due to the environment of Nocturne.

His skin gradually darkened, giving it a unique texture, and his eyes became blood-red.

He was enormous, with dark skin, well-defined muscles, and bloodshot eyes like burning stars, making him appear terrifying at first glance.

Vulcan, however, was gentle by nature and followed his adoptive father to learn forging skills, embarking on the path of a blacksmith.

The Primarch learned very quickly and his forging skills improved rapidly, surpassing his adoptive father in just a few months.

Initially, the townspeople were terrified of the Primarch, seeing him as the embodiment of horror, and the outsider's height as terrifying.

After living together for a long time, the townspeople got used to Vulcan and were impressed by his extraordinary casting skills.

The utensils he crafted were not only durable but also exquisitely designed, resembling works of art. Many people bought them and were reluctant to use them, instead enshrining them in altars.

Life was uneventful, peaceful and comfortable.

Until one day, a group of uninvited guests arrived in the town, shattering this peace and tranquility.

That day, the blacksmith called Vulcan home and told his adopted son to close the doors and windows tightly, his face filled with fear.

This wasn't just the case in his family; it was the case throughout the entire town.

The usually bustling streets were deserted, all the shops were closed, and people were huddled at home, shivering with fear.

Vulcan was at a loss. He stared at his trembling father and could hear the neighbors grinding their teeth in fear.

"What's wrong?" Vulcan asked his father, full of confusion.

The blacksmith explained to his son why the town was the way it was.

Nocturne is rife with natural disasters, but the factor that hinders human survival is "man-made disaster."

Every so often, a humanoid alien race would come to Nocturne and plunder its population.

Moreover, the aliens take pleasure in killing and wantonly torture and humiliate the inhabitants of Nocturne.

At first, the planet Nocturne resisted everywhere, using weapons they had crafted themselves to launch a violent resistance against the invaders.

But when faced with agile and fast aliens, resistance is futile; resistance only brings more abuse and slaughter.

In a frenzied scream and excitement, the aliens killed all the rebels, their wails and screams echoing through the streets.

As time went on, resistance dwindled.

When the raiders arrived, people hid in their houses, praying that they would leave quickly and that misfortune would not befall them.

Humans who have lost their courage hide like livestock awaiting slaughter, waiting for the butcher to choose them at will.

After explaining the whole story, the blacksmith raised his hand to support his son's knees and urged him to hide quickly.

His extraordinary existence would definitely attract the attention of raiders, who would then abduct him.

“We should fight back,” Vulcan said, his dark face taut as he knelt beside his father. “The cowardice of the victims will not earn the mercy of the perpetrators!”

“Father,” the towering giant’s voice was gentle, “if there is a reason for my extraordinary achievements, it must be for this day!”

With a resolute expression, Vulcan reassured his father, then rose and picked up a massive hammer from the weapons rack, preparing to fight the raiders.

He had long been aware of his extraordinary nature and the vast difference between himself and ordinary people.

In the past, Vulcan, guided by his father, went to the place where he had first found himself.

He smashed the obsidian after the magma cooled, excavated the entire obsidian lake, and found some clues.

A damaged amniotic sac with "XVIII" clearly printed on it.

Vulcan immediately realized that he had been cultivated, and that there were at least seventeen others like him.

He picked up his warhammer, and a realization dawned on his crimson eyes.

Perhaps his innate mission, this extraordinary power, is to protect humanity.

"My son, I'm with you." Sensing the determination, the blacksmith picked up his longsword, intending to fight alongside his son.

“You don’t have to do this…” Vulcan hesitated, feeling uneasy. He didn’t know the enemy’s strength and didn’t want his father to put himself in danger.

"You have the will to resist, and I have the right to resist as well." The old blacksmith smiled, his smile revealing an undeniable resolve.

Vulcan said no more, nodding as he gripped his warhammer tighter. The blacksmith's character was like an anvil, stubborn and inflexible; though weathered by life, his decisions were unwavering.

The father and son, armed with weapons, opened the door and walked out of the room.

The heavy footsteps drew onlookers, who were hiding in their rooms. From the shadows in the corner of the window, they saw a huge, dark figure on the street.

The weapon in the giant's hand signifies that he will not remain silent, and is a demonstration of his determination and resolve to fight to the death.

The moment you pick up a weapon, there is no third way but life or death.

Perhaps because they had long been convinced of the giant's power, more people came out of the room, carrying weapons.

From the streets to the city gates, more and more people gathered around Vulcan. They remained silent, communicating with their eyes, and saw the resolute determination in each other's hearts.

From the distant fields came bursts of shrill laughter, tinged with madness.

The waiting people finally saw what the legendary raiders really looked like.

To everyone's surprise, a slender and agile figure emerged from the farmland, naked and humanoid.

The alien's body is largely the same as a human's, except for its long, thin ear tips, which are no different from those of humans. However, it is more delicate and graceful, and its agility is unlike that of a human.

Their slender, beautiful faces were painted with oil paint, their eyes gleamed with bloodlust, and their lips curled into cruel smiles.

When Wu Ling noticed the towering black figure at the front of the crowd, an excited smile appeared on her face.

"Bring that prey back to Comoros, I'm going to enjoy him!" The Eldar communicated in their language, and the leading Eldar licked his lips, his eyes filled with greed.

Faced with the alien attack, Vulcan, hammer in hand, sensed the weakness of the raiders.

Yes, weak.

Having never seen the raiders, he always believed that his abilities were limited and he could not protect everyone.

Now, Vulcan wore a relieved smile, filled with the satisfaction of being able to protect everyone.

What is he laughing at? The witch spirit rushing towards the crowd was surprised.

She had seen too many people, but never one so composed. There was no fear in that smile, only a sense of relief.

Then, the wanton spirit of the Dark Elf race realized what the person was laughing about.

With a single step, Vulcan's massive form resembled an unstoppable war machine, each step shaking the primordial earth.

The Dark Eldar felt a blur before their eyes, a black figure was right in front of them, a huge warhammer was pressed against their face, and then everything disappeared.

The Eldar are as swift as ghosts, and ordinary humans can only be toyed with by them, dying in humiliation that they cannot reach despite their best efforts.

But the person before him was the Primarch, a demigod created by the Emperor, the strongest being in the real universe.

The raiders moved swiftly, but to Vulcan they were no different from ordinary people. He swung his warhammer at the nearest enemy.

slap~
A voice devoid of honor rang out, and the slender, graceful body of the witch spirit was shattered into pieces by the warhammer.

Like a mortal swatting a fly, the warhammer's surface was covered in crimson blood, and the Eldar's corpse was smashed into a pulp.

Before Wuling could react to her sisters' deaths, Vulcan had already charged into the fray, his hammer flashing like a phantom as he killed the intruders.

By the time the mortals and spirits present realized what was happening, he had killed many spirits, turning them into minced meat.

"No!" The witch spirits felt the pain of their sisters dying and their souls being devoured by the dark prince, and they all let out painful screams.

Humans roared in fury, raised their weapons against the invaders, and surrounded the damned aliens.

Under Vulcan's leadership, the mortals unleashed tremendous power, forming groups of several to hunt down the aliens.

Right now, the Primarch has ignited the flame of courage in humanity, and they know that the Xenomorphs are not invincible.

Vulcan took the lead, sweeping across the cabbage field like a black whirlwind, causing chaos and defeat to the members of the Witch Spirit Raiding Group.

Faced with the speed of the Primarch, even the Eldar, who are naturally quick to react, can only see some of the movements with their eyes, but their bodies have no chance to react.

A massive hammer, gleaming with power, could kill anyone who touched it.

Vulcan grew more confident with each fight, his dark face stained with alien blood. The kind-hearted man now unleashed his fury on the aliens.

Humans are the ones who deserve his pity; aliens all deserve to die!
Within seconds, half of the Witch Spirit Raiders were dead, with few survivors left under Vulcan's ferocious onslaught.

"Leave here!" The Eldar screamed. The "humans" before them were too terrifying. The Dark Eldar had to leave.

Although he didn't understand the language, Vulcan could read the aliens' movements and knew they were trying to escape.

He stepped forward, a black shadow enveloping the terrified spirit race. He grabbed the naked witch spirit with his large hand and forced her to the ground.

Vulcan was a genetic archetype, a natural strategist and leader, who, even while working as a blacksmith every day, possessed a unique understanding of conflict.

He knew that the people of Nocturne needed a victory to inspire humanity, which had lost the courage to resist.

A captured alien serves as a symbol of the beginning, meant to dispel old fears.

(Brothers, I absolutely won't slack off! It's just that I'm too busy and tired during the day. I'm so tired, I want to update more too!)
(End of this chapter)