Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 488 New Blood Dons Armor

Within the churning atmosphere of the gas giant Rostov IV, in the Ash Knights Chapter's fortress monastery, the chapter's new recruits are undergoing an honorary armor-donning ceremony, making final preparations for their expedition.

The cold, circulating air, carrying the mixed scents of promethium and holy oil, seeped into every pore of the recruits.

Mikhail stood in the ranks of the new recruits of the Third Company, wearing only a sweat-wicking black training leotard. His bulging muscles were taut in the dim light, like a bowstring ready to be released.

On the wall, the huge black and white Maltese cross emblem seemed to float in the void under the cold light, silently looking down on the warriors who were about to embark on their journey.

A cold, emotionless broadcast pierced the silence: "Third Recruit Company, Serial Number: IX-03. Operation Code: 'Anvil.' Target Star System: Broken Tooth System. Mission: To coordinate the extermination of the remaining Orc forces. Readiness Level: Alpha. Armoring ceremony, one hour later, at the 'Perseverance' Forging Sanctuary."

Mikhail instinctively straightened his spine.

The second son of a military aristocratic family on Rostov II—that was his long-forgotten identity, a distant and vague starting point.

The path to the Temple of Astartes is by no means an ordinary route.

Fragments of memory flowed through consciousness like a cold stream: on the frozen tundra of Rostov II, every step was a test of the limits of life...

The pain of having one's flesh and bones reshaped during gene implantation almost tears one's soul apart...

On the training field, he was knocked down countless times by battle-hardened veterans, only to struggle to rise again from the ashes of his will. Dizziness and excruciating pain became the norm...

These rigorous trials, each step a sacred crucible set by the emperor, can only forge those with an iron will and pure loyalty, making them vessels to receive His blessings.

He was a survivor who emerged from the forging flames, a member chosen by the Emperor and the Warband.

Now, this cold and sacred terracotta armor that he is about to don is the ultimate proof of his existence and supreme glory.

Orcs… This word once lay dormant in the cold training manuals, but now, with the roar of his chainsword, it will be transformed into splattering, foul blood, becoming his first offering to the Emperor.

A mixture of pure longing for the holy order of battle and an indescribable thrill of fulfilling a mission for the first time throbbed quietly deep within his chest, like the low rumble of an engine before it starts.

Stepping into the "Perseverance" Casting Sanctuary, one's senses are instantly enveloped by another reality.

A servo skull floated above the vaulted ceiling, its pale blue light intertwining with the countless flickering golden candles of the altar, casting shifting shadows on the walls adorned with pipes, gear reliefs, and sacred runes. The air was scorching and viscous, thick with the mingled scents of incense, molten metal, and consecrated engine oil. A deep, binary hymn, like the eternal meshing of gears, resonated in prayer, penetrating to the very marrow of one's being.

Mikhail stepped barefoot onto the cold, adamantite floor and walked toward the armored platform shrouded in a central halo.

The sages, clad in scarlet robes and with limbs mostly made of cold machinery, stood solemnly like holy statues.

Their servo arms moved with precision, preparing sacred objects: a silver basin filled with sanctified engine oil, an incense burner burning with a ghostly blue flame, and a power backpack connector engraved with prayers.

The chief sage slowly turned around, his head mostly covered with metal and crystal sensors.

A multi-jointed robotic arm silently rose, and a calibration laser swept across Mikhail's chest like a cold gaze.

"New blood, sequence IX-03-47, Mikhail." The sage's voice was a pure, metallic synthesized tone, flat and even, yet containing an undeniable divine majesty, like a hammer striking fine gold. "Your mortal body will soon be draped in the steel rites of the Emperor and Omnesia. Is your soul ready to bear this supreme weight?"

“I am ready, Your Excellency.” Mikhail’s voice was exceptionally clear amidst the hum of the sanctuary, and he struggled to maintain his upright posture.

The sense of responsibility that the nobles once held had been transformed into a burning loyalty to the Emperor and the warband. The qualities that belonged to the second son of the Rostov II military noble had now been completely integrated into the steel torrent of the Ash Knights. "What is honor?" The sage's question fell like a hammer of judgment.

"Honor is every battle scar on my armor, the heretical blood on the blade of my chainsaw! It is the name of those who fought to the death for the Emperor and for humanity, forever etched on the immortal monument of the Chapter's Sanctuary!" Mikhail roared the creed etched into his soul.

"What is responsibility?" The crimson light in the sage's mechanical eyes focused, as if it could pierce through the soul.

"Responsibility is to protect the millions of silent people behind us! It is to maintain the sacred integrity of the Empire's territory! It is to fulfill the immortal oath of the Ash Knights—to burn away all threats in the world with our inextinguishable flames!" Sweat seeped from Mikhail's taut forehead, dripping onto the cold adamantite platform, and with a "hiss," it turned into white smoke and dissipated.

“This armor is not merely protective gear.” The sage’s servo arm pointed precisely at the suspended MK10 power armor.

The newly painted black and white quarter colors are clearly defined under the light and shadow, and the black and white Maltese cross emblem in the center of the breastplate shines brightly.

"This is your newborn skin and armor, your mobile sanctuary! Within it slumbers the sacred soul, thirsting for the blood of heretics! Are you willing to offer your life as a sacrifice, and swear your loyalty to serve its awakening?"

"I am willing! I will serve you with my blood, with my soul, and with my eternal loyalty!" Mikhail roared resolutely.

"Omnissiah Vult!" the chief sage proclaimed in a high-pitched, metallic voice, and all the mechanical priests present echoed in unison.

The pitch of the binary hymn suddenly rose, becoming rapid and grand, like the solemn roar of a warship's engine running at full power during a sacred ceremony.

The cold ceramic steel components are precisely fitted by the servo arm.

As the leg armor snapped shut, a heavy feeling immediately followed, then the waist armor and breastplate.

Warm, sanctified motor oil was applied to the joints, accompanied by ancient prayers and binary blessings.

When the heavy shoulder armor, painted in a black and white diagonal pattern, is fastened, a profound sense of belonging arises spontaneously.

The back panel connects to the black and white four-part power backpack, producing a slight hum and hydraulic sound, and a sense of power spreads along the spine.

Finally, the cold helmet with the majestic Maltese cross relief descended, isolating it from the outside world.

The eyepiece lit up, tactical data streams flooded the field of vision, and the static of the communication channel and the sound of one's own breathing were clearly audible.

He took the weapons: a cold, explosive gun and a serrated chainsaw sword.

Without any fancy decorations, only basic killing tools, bearing the heaviest mission.

"Sequence IX-03-47, Mikhail, armor complete! Divine Machine Soul awakened! Fight for the Emperor and Omnesia!" The sage's declaration, like the final stamp of fate, echoed in the lingering notes of the hymn.

"Fight for the Emperor!" Mikhail's voice came from the breathing grille of his helmet, deep, firm, and resonant with a metallic quality.

He turned around, the terracotta steel making a subtle sound as he moved, merging into the steel ranks that were also fully armored, as if they had stepped out of an ancient mythological relief.

The black and white Maltese cross shines on every breastplate, converging into a moving, silent wall of faith.

Mikhail, Sequence IX-03-47, is about to write his first page as the Ash Knight amidst the blood and fire of the orcs.

(End of this chapter)