Hi guys I'm back here with a new story, sorry if I've been gone for a while to be honest I could've came back much earlier, but I was too busy to come back and also because I'm still using my old broken phone, I surprising got it working again so yeah , and I've been thinking.
I really want to delete my xianxia story, because it's too hard to maintain a steady schedule for it, with my 40k fanfic being on hiatus for now since I'll be busy for a long while so I think I'll focus on one fanfic for now.
And I made this because inspiration hit me hard and I needed to write it to calm myself since this has been on my mind for some time, anyways the schedule for this will be whatever I have time, since I seriously cannot commit to a schedule so I'll just say fuck it and just do my best in post quality chapters than quantity.
So yeah that's all enjoy bye
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Segmentum Obscurus | Imperial World
On one side of the galaxy, an Imperial world was being besieged by Chaos as warp storms littered the atmosphere of the planet.
The planet below was engulfed in promethium flames as hulking figures clad in green, scaled armour fought against the forces of Chaos.
Daemons and Chaos Astartes outnumbered them, but like the flames that surrounded their beings—lethal and unyielding—they stood firm as they slew their foes.
Their movements were meticulous and ordered, like machines unburdened by physical needs. Although they may have seemed like machines, inside them burned the passionate heart of humanity. Behind them cowered their hope, their family, and their future.
They kept the swarm of daemons at bay, using their fiery love for humanity as the fuel to keep fighting.
For it was their creed—they were forged from the depths of fire to be born anew, to be the guardians of humanity.
They were the Salamanders.
And amidst those warriors, towering above all their figures, fought their primarch:
Vulkan.
"My sons, stand your ground. Do not let this filth touch the refugees."
He said in a gruff but calm voice as his thunder hammer crushed a multitude of daemons in a single swing.
Currently, Vulkan and a squad of Salamanders were in the midst of enemy lines, disrupting the more vital foes that might shoot down the fleeing civilians.
Holding Doomtremor as well as a plasma pistol, he crushed down his enemies, killing daemons left and right. Nothing could match him and his sons as body after body piled beneath them.
But the warp was cruel and unpredictable. Suddenly, from amongst the horde of daemons—
A metal fist struck Vulkan's body, causing him to slide back and crash into his sons. Luckily, he managed to absorb the force, sparing his sons from getting flung back.
"Grunt—"
Vulkan grunted as he held the indentation where his armour was struck. The horde of daemons parted as a figure walked amongst them.
This figure wore armour somewhat familiar to Vulkan. Clenching Doomtremor hard, Vulkan knew what lay in front of him—it was one of his sons, a Salamander.
Its distorted and corrupted figure couldn't hide the mark of his sons.
"Grrr, Vulkan!!"
The Chaos Lord growled in anger as his gaze locked onto Vulkan. Without hesitation, he charged, and the demons renewed their assault.
Two of Vulkan's sons tried to intercept, but sensing their impending doom, Vulkan tried to stop them—but it was too late.
The Chaos Lord reached them in a blink, swinging his warp glaive and cutting one of them in half. The other was impaled by a warp engine that acted as an arm.
Seeing this, anger consumed Vulkan. He squeezed Doomtremor hard and dashed towards the Chaos Lord.
But not before commanding his sons in a grave tone:
"Go! Prioritise the evacuation of the civilians."
The three Salamanders hesitated but could not disobey.
"Yes, my lord!"
Vulkan didn't wait. He charged.
The Chaos Lord—**N'Korth**—shook off the corpses of the dead Salamanders and stood tall, staring at Vulkan face-to-face.
Vulkan wore a stern and serious expression. N'Korth, although his face was hidden behind a weathered Salamander helmet, radiated hatred and bloodlust.
They moved at the same time.
Vulkan swung his thunder hammer. N'Korth, his glaive.
Vulkan blocked the glaive, and N'Korth parried the thunder hammer with his warp engine arm. The sheer force of their clash caused an explosion that rippled through the area.
They struggled equally, locked in a clash of strength that cracked the ground beneath them.
Vulkan pulled his head back and smashed it into N'Korth's helm with the force of a meteor. N'Korth grunted as Vulkan broke free, then swung his hammer again.
BANG!
The force disoriented the surrounding daemons. N'Korth's armour dented, but he growled rather than cried out.
He expelled ash from his helm's filters, blinding Vulkan and searing his exposed skin. His armour began to melt.
Despite the pain, Vulkan struck again and again, staggering N'Korth. But N'Korth fought back with equal fury, their battle causing massive tremors, as if Titans were fighting.
Hours passed. Civilians were evacuated to the ship. Some Salamanders remained to defend it, while others stayed to support their Primarch.
Vulkan, panting, saw the evacuation completed.
His eyes turned to N'Korth, now unmasked. Vulkan recognised the corrupted face.
"**Ator'Kar, my son.**"
N'Korth froze, his rage momentarily dimmed, his face serious.
"**Grrr… Father.**"
"Why have you betrayed us?"
His expression twisted. He charged, swinging his glaive. Vulkan blocked as he screamed:
"**You betrayed us! You left us to die for those mortals! My brothers—dead!**"
N'Korth's warp engine arm punched Vulkan in the face.
"Guh… Ragh!"
Vulkan kicked him back and swung Doomtremor. N'Korth dodged, then raised his glaive, warp fire enveloping its blade.
He swung.
Vulkan blocked, but the force broke through, burning his shoulder. The warp fire bypassed his armour.
"**Argh!**"
"Now do you understand, Father?! Compassion makes us weak! It cursed us!"
Vulkan grunted, holding the glaive stuck to his shoulder.
"Now that I've killed this curse—I am free. I will bring peace… heartless, cruel peace."
Vulkan saw clearly.
This was no longer his son.
"**I am peace. I am the flame. I am N'Korth, the Ash of Ruin!**"
Vulkan sighed. Then, with all emotion cast aside, he steeled himself.
"**You are no longer my son.**"
He released the rage inside him.
Their battle continued for days—neither side yielding.
Ash storms raged. The sun above no longer pierced the darkened sky, now choked by warp corruption. The world around them crumbled as both titanic figures clashed relentlessly.
The soil cracked, scorched, and split from each of their devastating blows. Volcanic eruptions mirrored the ferocity of their combat, while burning promethium rivers scorched away the corpses of daemons and Astartes alike.
Each strike from Vulkan's thunder hammer—**Doomtremor**—echoed like a dying god's cry. Each counter from N'Korth's warp-infused glaive tore reality itself in jagged bursts of sickening power.
Their armour dented. Their flesh bruised. Even their immense will—wrought from fire and war—strained under the sheer toll of it all.
But Vulkan stood unyielding. His body battered, his skin torn, one eye closed from a deep gash—but still he fought.
With a final surge of power, fueled by the sheer will to protect, Vulkan swung his hammer in a wide arc, smashing into N'Korth's side. The blow sent the corrupted son tumbling, crashing through layers of broken earth and daemon bone.
Vulkan approached—slow, steady, dragging Doomtremor behind him like a judgement rendered.
N'Korth, now on his knees, helmet shattered and body barely held together by the warp's blasphemous stitching, still lived.
But barely.
The former Salamander's gaze pierced Vulkan with hatred and desperation. Blood and ichor pooled beneath him.
"…You… still stand…" N'Korth rasped, grinning with broken teeth. "But… I won't let it end like this…"
With his last ounce of strength, he pulled forth a shard of warp-infused stone from his belt—etched with symbols that bled light and screamed in a thousand voices.
Vulkan's eyes widened.
"N'Korth! Don't—! "
The corrupted Astartes thrust the shard into the ground, chanting guttural words no loyal son of the Emperor would dare speak. The symbols exploded into violent warp-fire, scorching the ground in a wide circle.
A rift tore open in the fabric of space—a gaping wormhole unlike anything Vulkan had seen.
Reality bent.
Daemons shrieked in unholy praise.
The skies screamed.
The pull was immediate. Everything around them—air, rubble, corpses—was sucked violently towards the growing singularity.
Vulkan turned to his remaining sons.
"Fall back! Retreat! Get to the ship! NOW! "
They hesitated, eyes wide in disbelief, but his voice—commanding, absolute—spurred them into action.
But N'Korth stood, barely, his hand grasping Vulkan's wrist.
"You won't leave… none of us will…" he growled, hate still burning in his voice.
Vulkan snarled, throwing N'Korth back and trying to reach his sons—but it was too late.
The wormhole surged.
From orbit, aboard the Flamewroat, the surviving Salamanders aboard the ship watched in horror.
The planet below—once a proud Imperial world—began to twist unnaturally.
Mountains folded inward. Oceans vaporised. The planet's core ruptured, spewing molten hell into the atmosphere.
And then—silence.
A blink of light, and the world was gone.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
The warp storm receded into nothingness, leaving only a void where the planet once stood.
There was no trace of Vulkan.
No trace of N'Korth.
Only ashes scattered across the stars.
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Midwestern Region, Earth – Marvel Universe
A quiet town far from the bustling lights of New York, nestled within tall pine forests and wide open plains. Life here was simple—farmers, hunters, and old folks living out their days in peace.
But peace was a fragile thing.
One night, the sky screamed.
A burning star tore through the atmosphere like a blade splitting flesh. The heavens above, once calm and still, now burned with warp-touched fire as a massive meteor slammed into the outskirts of the rural town.
The impact was apocalyptic.
Earth shattered. Forests vaporised. Animals fled in instinctive terror.
A shockwave roared out, levelling everything for kilometres—windows shattered, vehicles flipped, and silence died.
But amidst the chaos, something unnatural was born.
A massive crater carved into the land, the ground around it scorched black and molten. The impact site pulsed with heat and warp residue so intense the surrounding soil twisted unnaturally, stone becoming obsidian, the very earth hissing like it remembered pain.
And from that crater... rose a mountain.
A newborn volcano, seething with unnatural fire.
Inside its hollow chamber, buried beneath layers of molten rock and metallic slag, a ruined body lay still.
Blackened skin like volcanic stone. Cracked armour fused to flesh. Immense in size—inhuman in every way.
And yet…
Its heart still beat.
Slow.
Heavy.
Eternal.
The mountain rumbled softly every few hours—never erupting, but always trembling, as if it too shared the pain of what slumbered within.
Locals avoided the site. Scientists and the military observed from afar. No one dared approach. Not because of fear—no, they didn't yet know what to fear—but because their instincts screamed wrong.
Inside the magma womb, Vulkan slept.
His body barely intact, melted and torn by the warp, but preserved by the very thing that made him inhuman.
His immortality.
Time passed.
Days. Weeks.
But the volcano pulsed stronger each night, and deep within its heart—
A single green eye opened.
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