The square and heavy hammer fell to the ground with finality. Metal struck metal. Force met resistance. The victor was gravity.
Nolan, wearing Terminator armor that now felt heavier than ever, also dropped to kneel on one knee. Exhaustion overrode pride.
His two thick arms, wrapped in ceramite steel shells, shook slightly while still gripping the thick hammer handle. Muscles spasmed. Servos whined. Everything trembled with aftermath.
"Vulkan is indeed the most physically powerful Primarch." Nolan's voice emerged between ragged breaths. "How on earth did he swing this thing with one hand? I just swung it once and lost all power..."
His face had turned red from exertion, blood vessels prominent beneath skin. He stared at the crack spreading nearly ten meters across the metal floor from impact point.
The damage was impressive. The effort required terrifying.
He muttered to himself, processing implications. Just judging from the current situation, from this single brutal test, the Primarch-level melee weapon he'd obtained might not be usable in combat for a considerable time.
Months. Maybe years. However long it took to grow strong enough.
Nolan began adjusting his breathing rhythm deliberately. Deep breaths. Controlled exhalations. Recover exhausted energy as quickly as possible through techniques learned during training.
About five minutes later, after heart rate normalized and trembling ceased, he casually released the thick hammer handle. The Dawnbringer remained where it had fallen, too heavy to shift accidentally.
He slowly stood while wearing the Terminator armor, servos providing assistance his muscles couldn't currently manage.
Nolan, who frowned slightly with residual frustration, opened the simulator again. Time to test the other weapon. The one he might actually use.
He extracted another Primarch-level gun from storage, calling it forth into reality.
Plasma Revolver: Heart of the Furnace.
In the blink of an eye, a revolver comparable in size and weight to a standard bolter appeared out of thin air in Nolan's metal palm. Materialization complete. Form solidifying.
He looked down at the weapon with appreciative assessment. The Heart of the Furnace gleamed with dark metallic luster, surface perfectly smooth.
Only the top of the narrow barrel and the sides of the ammunition cylinder were covered with a layer of scales that looked like green dragon scales. The texture was organic. Unsettling. Ork-touched.
Apart from this orky decoration, there were no embellishments or configurations on the gun body. No filigree. No scrollwork. No purity seals.
It was exactly like a scaled-up revolver. Functional. Plain. Utilitarian.
However, this matched perfectly with the steely and cold character of Primarch Ferrus Manus. The Gorgon valued function over form. Strength over beauty.
If it weren't for the fact that this gun was meant as a gift for his Primarch brother Vulkan, it was estimated that Ferrus might not have even chosen to install the green scales. The decoration was concession to sentiment.
"The pragmatism of the Iron Hands?" Nolan's lips pursed in approval. "It suits me perfectly."
He nodded to himself, appreciating the philosophy embedded in design. No wasted effort. No unnecessary ornamentation.
Looking up, he scanned the training ground and found several metal targets positioned at the far edge. Standard ballistic testing equipment. Reinforced. Rated for heavy weapons.
Then, without hesitation, Nolan raised the revolver. The weapon could only be properly held by the metal palm of Terminator armor, size scaled for demigods rather than mortals.
At this moment, as soon as Nolan pulled the trigger, mechanics engaged.
The ammunition cylinder of the Heart of the Furnace quickly began rotating with smooth precision. Chambers aligning. Energy building.
Six blue plasma balls were continuously sprayed from the muzzle like arrows of condensed star-fire! Each shot was accompanied by a sharp crack of superheated air.
And in the blink of an eye, they arrived at the metal targets in the distance, crossing intervening space faster than tracking could follow.
The projectiles struck and instantly exploded into large scorching plasma tides! Brilliant blue light washed across the training ground. Heat radiated in waves. Metal targets melted into slag.
At this moment, the Heart of the Furnace, which should have entered cooldown time according to specifications, seemed to emit a crisp buzzing sound instead. Vibration. Power building again immediately.
The next second, before Nolan could consciously decide to pull the trigger again, before the weapon should have been ready, six more blue plasma balls were ejected from the muzzle!
Impossible. Unprecedented. The Ork gods' blessing manifesting.
Nolan blinked several times in surprise and couldn't help but draw a sharp breath. He stared at the Heart of the Furnace in his metal palm with newfound respect.
"Are weapons blessed by Gork and Mork so terrifying?" His voice carried wonder mixed with wariness. "Sure enough, things touched by greenskins don't make sense at all! They ignore physics by belief alone!"
As soon as the words fell, as understanding crystallized, Nolan straightened his thick arm holding the revolver again. Time for comprehensive testing. Data gathering.
One after another, he pulled the trigger of the Heart of the Furnace repeatedly. Testing frequency. Measuring probability. Establishing patterns.
In instants, bright plasma balls bloomed one after another across the wide training ground! Blue flowers of destruction. Each impact creating craters. Melting metal. Vaporizing materials.
The barrage was continuous. Devastating. Beautiful in its terrible efficiency.
And when everything finally calmed down completely, when the last plasma ball dissipated and echoes faded, Nolan stared at the messy training ground before him. Destruction spread across the entire space.
He shook his head slightly, processing results. Statistical analysis complete.
He took an average of five to ten trigger pulls to successfully trigger the blessing. Only then could he unleash as few as six and as many as twelve plasma balls at once without cooldown.
The probability was inconsistent. Random. Orky in its unpredictability. But the effect was undeniable.
Even with this limitation, even accounting for the randomness, this Heart of the Furnace that once belonged to Vulkan had become one of the most powerful individual firepower weapons he possessed so far.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Nolan's mouth. Satisfaction earned through testing. Power confirmed through destruction.
He hung the Heart of the Furnace at the waist of his Terminator Armor with magnetic lock, the weapon settling into place perfectly. Then turned to walk outside the training ground, leaving devastation behind.
The entire Twin Islands base was now covered with statues of the Emperor and prayer scriptures. Every corridor. Every chamber. Divine presence saturating the environment.
If Nolan didn't possess the Necrons' blackstone materials and technology in his storage, rare xenos resources that could nullify warp energies, he might have felt compelled to transform the entire base into a dead place where psychic energy was completely forbidden. Maximum protection through complete suppression.
Now, however, the Emperor's gaze seemed almost constant throughout the facility. Divine attention maintaining watch. Holy presence providing shield.
It also made Nolan's sense of crisis about Chaos corruption slightly lessened. Not eliminated. Never gone. But manageable with proper precautions.
During this period, after Doom finished his daily training, before heading to Second Son Island for technical exchanges with Raditus, he came to find Nolan. Seeking explanation. Demanding context.
He asked about the changes in the base. Why statues everywhere? Why constant prayers? What threat required such measures?
Nolan hesitated for a moment, weighing security versus trust. Then decided to reveal part of the truth to Doom. Partial disclosure. Necessary information.
Of course, he deliberately deleted specific names of the Chaos Gods. Safer that way. Less dangerous to speak aloud.
He simply informed Doom about numerous threats of chaotic corruption in general terms. About the existence mechanism of warp daemons. About entities that fed on souls and emotion. About dangers beyond material warfare.
After Doom, whose expression showed deep worry, turned and left with his brow furrowed in troubled contemplation, Nolan felt paradoxically more relaxed. Burden shared. Ally informed.
He began studying the next immediate plan. Priorities establishing themselves.
The support missions were tasks he must perform eventually. Responsibilities he couldn't avoid indefinitely.
On a small scale, this related to acquisition of Throne Coins. Currency required. Source of technology needed for enhancement surgeries and power development. Practical necessity.
On a larger scale, this was his vocation as a Primarch of Mankind. Purpose embedded in genetics. Destiny written in creation.
A living tool of the Emperor. Currency to be put to good use in the great game of survival.
Of course, this particular currency also possessed its own joys and sorrows. Consciousness. Will. The capacity to object.
It had the power to make small resistance to the Emperor's actions. Agency within constraints. Choice within obligation.
Although loyalty that wasn't absolute was absolutely disloyal by Imperial doctrine, these words applied primarily to mortals and Astartes in the Warhammer universe. Common soldiers. Expendable masses.
Nolan was a Primarch after all, even if incomplete, and that status created exceptions. Different rules. Greater latitude.
Not long after this philosophical consideration, Nolan repeatedly examined the thirteen prayers for help displayed on the simulator. Studying options. Weighing risks. Calculating probabilities.
He pondered for a long time, comparing mission parameters and threat assessments. Finally found one relatively simple combat operation. Starting point. Manageable risk.
[Prayer for help from the nameless hive: Tetim - Surging Dark Tide]
[Note: Please note that the assistance of the Pharos Lighthouse is required to enter and exit the Warhammer universe.]
[Note: Please note that this hive city is undergoing an unknown rebellion. Please assist the local Planetary Defense Force to suppress the heresy.]
[Note: Regardless of whether the support is successful or not, the basic support reward is one Throne Coin (which can be exchanged for one simulation opportunity)]
[Note: The probability of recruiting the local Planetary Defense Force from the hive city increases.]
[Note: The chance of recruiting the Hive Gangers and Heretic Rebels has increased.]
[Note: Please note that the real body has only one round-trip opportunity to enter and exit the Warhammer universe per mission. If you accidentally miss the opportunity to return, you must travel to another mission location and complete a different support prayer through the simulator to return again. Please make all choices carefully.]
[Note: Current support success probability: zero]
The zero percent success rate was discouraging but honest. First mission. Unproven capability. Fair assessment.
In addition, Nolan, who re-examined the simulator's new features more thoroughly, also unexpectedly discovered other uses for the Legion Management page. Functions beyond simple organization charts.
At the bottom of the Legion Management interface, nearly hidden, there was a separate folding sub-menu. Easy to miss. Important when found.
Two branch options were marked inside: Main Combatants and Weapons and Equipment. Organization. Inventory. Tracking.
And the branch option of Main Combatants also clearly displayed specific information. Current roster. Active personnel.
It showed Nolan himself wearing Terminator power armor. Expected. Primary entry.
And below that, unexpectedly, remarkably, incredibly...
The only surviving Space Wolf from past simulations!