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The flames roiled and burned, heat distorting the air as Calyx's figure gradually dissolved within the blaze.
"It's finally over." Cerakos gazed at the funeral pyre and spoke in a low voice.
In New Eridu, natural timber was anything but cheap. The moment Ignis saw the neatly stored dry firewood, he knew this warrior had prepared long in advance. Cecilia, though she did not fully understand the bonds between Space Marines, helped from start to finish. Her strength was slight, yet she persisted in carrying firewood without complaint.
Ignis had seen funeral pyres before—and had even built one for himself. In the traditions of the Salamanders Chapter, before the start of every new campaign, Salamanders separate from their battle-brothers to construct their own funeral pyres. When the flames climb to the top of the stack, they return. During that solitude, they anoint their armor with unguents and meditate upon the core doctrines of the Promethean Creed.
Self-sacrifice. Absolute loyalty. Self-reliance.
This was not Ignis's first time attending the cremation rites of other battle-brothers. The Sixth Company, as a reserve company, did not usually shoulder the main combat burden, yet it still bore responsibility for support. Ignis himself had fought alongside line companies on several occasions.
Whenever a line company was deployed—and reserves were sent in support—the battlefield was inevitably brutal.
Although Salamander cremation rites were deeply private, Ignis had been honored with invitations more than once. In the rising flames, fallen Salamanders turned to blue smoke, while the living thrust their hands into the pyre, feeling the final whispers of those reborn by fire.
Ignis still remembered what the fallen warrior's squadmates had said—that he had loved joking. They worried that if the atmosphere was too heavy, he might not depart in peace. So, they began recounting his stories: his mannerisms, his gestures, his habits.
Memory always softens its edges. The battle-brothers said the fallen warrior had been cheerful, always trying to keep spirits high no matter how dire the circumstances. He constantly told jokes, often unsuccessfully. Yet once he was placed upon the pyre, even those unfunny jokes would never be heard again. One squadmate confessed regret—he had always interrupted him, simply because the jokes were not funny. Yet the fallen brother had never grown discouraged, trying again and again to make them smile.
Later, the gathering turned into a shared dirge. They sang songs from the warrior's home tribe. Though unfamiliar with the melodies, it was enough to let him briefly return, within the flames, to the embrace of Nocturne.
"I know very little about Calyx. I don't even know what I should say." Ignis looked at Cerakos, the memories of the pyre urging him to speak.
"There's no need to say anything." Cerakos sighed softly. "Sergeant Calyx was a stern elder brother. He rarely spoke, but he always showed everything through action."
"He was a vanguard worthy of absolute trust—a savior who fell from the sky—and a role model for countless neophytes. On the training grounds, he was merciless, often drilling recruits until they were utterly miserable. Yet afterward, he was always the first to carry injured recruits to the Apothecary."
"He was responsible for selecting candidates and training initiates. His severity allowed many to survive their first few battles. You know how it is—the first engagements are usually where casualties are the worst."
"On the battlefield, as long as he noticed you were in danger and still had the strength to act, he would break through any enemy to save you. Then he would leave you only his back as he rushed toward the next fight."
"Some said he once served in the Deathwatch, learning tactics from members of many First Founding Chapters. In truth, whenever he had the time, he never withheld his experience. His words were concise—two or three sentences were enough to make tactical details clear."
"Beyond that… he was also an outstanding sculptor. In the Chapter's Hall of Honor, many heroic deeds of the Chapter's champions were carved into stone by his hands, preserved for future warriors."
"I once thought about becoming a warrior like him—becoming the most reliable one among the battle-brothers. But I…"
"…am still far from him."
Cerakos sighed, his expression dim.
"You say you didn't know him, but I think you already knew him well enough." Ignis placed his massive hand on Cerakos's shoulder. "Physical death is not true death. Being forgotten is. His story will be recorded by you. As long as you live, he will never disappear. Space Marine Chapters, human history—everything is passed down generation by generation like this."
"I didn't know him either," Cecilia said, having gathered flowers from the yard and woven them into a wreath. "But from your words, I know his story."
The girl cast the wreath into the fire, letting the flames carry the flowers and blessings to the fallen warrior.
"May his soul return to the Throne." Cerakos closed his eyes, tears sliding down from the corners.
They remained in silence until the pyre burned down completely. When the farewell flames finally died, Cerakos gathered the remains. These ashes were the final possessions of a warrior, and they would be carefully preserved.
As the remains were buried, the pain gradually faded from his expression. By the time he brushed off his hands and stood upright, his face had already steadied.
Cecilia helped throughout the process. The girl even planted rose seeds at the place where the remains were interred.
"When the temperature's right, we can plant grapes here," Cecilia said. "He should like that—just like you do."
"Yes. They like all kinds of fruit, especially grapes." Ignis could only stand outside the yard. He was simply too tall—entering would damage the trellis that had been set up.
Sanguinius loved grapes, a preference reflected among the Blood Angels and their successor Chapters created from his gene-seed.
"Grandpa always said the grapes we grew ourselves didn't taste very good." Cecilia turned toward the Salamander. "This year he specifically bought a very sweet variety. He hoped that when they bear fruit, you'd like them."
"And you too—I'll have him send you some as well."
"That would be an honor." Ignis's gaze shifted to the corner of the yard, where Calyx's armor had been removed. After modification, it would be used to equip Cerakos.
"When you've sorted out your feelings, contact me. Calyx was taller than you, so the armor will need some adjustments."
Cerakos looked at the pile of armor and weapons. "It shouldn't take too long. To be honest, inheriting a predecessor's armor should be a great honor, but right now…"
"These suits still carry glory. And only you are qualified to inherit them." Ignis looked at him steadily. "I can't wear them, and Brother Gotthardt rests within the sarcophagus of a Leviathan Dreadnought."
There was a question that had been weighing on Ignis's mind. Those who fell into the Black Rage usually had no rationality left. Their fighting style leaned toward relentless assault, wave after wave, with no regard for their own injuries. Yet Calyx had clearly retained a significant degree of reason. Though he shouted 'Horus,' he never abandoned tactical movement.
He dodged. He feinted. He withdrew when faced with encirclement. He even played dead. By all appearances, he remained rational.
Considering Cerakos's account—that they had first been struck by Warp sorcery before arriving here—it was possible that Warp influence, the boundary between the Warhammer universe and this world, and potential Hollow corruption had all interacted. That combination may have allowed Calyx to retain some capacity for thought. His condition was less true Black Rage and more like having a cognitive filter imposed upon him.
Everything looked like Horus.
Ironically, that was a good thing.
After the battle, Ignis reflected that if Calyx had fully succumbed to the Black Rage—fighting without restraint, trading wounds for wounds and life for life—then Ignis and Cerakos would have been in far greater danger. The overwhelming destructive power of lightning claws, combined with a jump pack that could operate continuously without cooldown, meant that Calyx truly might have taken both of them down, perhaps even without falling himself.
"I'd like to introduce you to my friends, if you don't mind." Ignis's gaze shifted toward Cecilia. "The name the Cunning Hares should still have some appeal to you, right?"
Actually, there was also Phaethon.
"I almost forgot—you're actually a member of the Cunning Hares." Cecilia twirled her hair. "To be honest, independent Proxies like us on the outskirts rarely get a chance to meet celebrity Agents like them. Though Grandpa Cerakos is definitely no worse than any of them."
"That really means I should think about what kind of gift to bring when meeting that elder." Cerakos sighed again, a headache forming. "A warrior from ten thousand years ago—a First Founding Dreadnought. I truly don't know what etiquette could properly convey my respect."
"There are still a few days left in Golden Week." Ignis glanced at his phone; his ride was about to arrive. "The Cunning Hares and Belobog Heavy Industries are vacationing together on a private beach. If you're ready, contact me anytime."
I've heard the Cunning Hares are notoriously greedy, with their boss Nicole Demara taking any job for money.So, this is where it all goes?
No. In truth, Boss Nicole was extremely poor. For the Cunning Hares, not being in debt each month was already their greatest victory. They earned plenty, yet almost none of it stayed in their hands. Ignis had long suspected that Nicole was incapable of keeping savings—money disappeared within days, spent or donated in the strangest ways.
"No, it's actually a friend's place. We're just staying there," Ignis explained quickly. "The main reason the Cunning Hares seem greedy is because we're poor. We're in the red every month."
"But the place is pretty luxurious," Cerakos added dryly.
"That's because we're house-sitting. It's part of a commission." Ignis could tell Cerakos had recovered somewhat from his grief, even finding the mood to joke lightly.
"I'll take the armor with me." Ignis extended his hand again. "When you have time, contact me."
"Of course. My power armor is badly damaged as well." Cerakos clasped Ignis's hand. "If you ever need help, contact me anytime. I'll come immediately."
"You're really not interested in that autocannon?" Ignis shifted the topic back to equipment.
"I'm sure it's an excellent weapon, but it's too heavy for me. I'm not as strong as you."
With the screech of brakes, a light truck came to a stop outside the yard. Billy Kid jumped out of the driver's seat, dressed in beach vacation clothes.
"Big guy! I'm here like we agreed!" The Men of Iron shouted loudly the moment he stepped out.
"Perfect. Help move this power armor." Ignis waved him over.
"Huh? Wait—why is there another guy wearing similar armor to you?" Billy noticed Cerakos and blinked. "Weren't you off with Jane Doe on a narcotics job?"
Ignis lifted Calyx's chest plate and pauldrons into his arms and turned toward the truck bed. "Long story. An unexpected discovery."
"I'm Billy Kid, this big guy's coworker." The robot immediately introduced himself.
"Cerakos, of the Lamenters Chapter." The Son of Sanguinius stepped forward and shook his hand.
"Cecilia, a rookie Proxy." The girl stepped up as well. "You're the legendary 'White Chariot,' right?"
That nickname made Ignis wince internally. Whoever came up with the Cunning Hares' nicknames truly had questionable taste.
"Oh!!! You actually know that name?!" The robot became excited at once.
Billy planted his hands on his waist as two revolvers spun out, twirling through the air. He caught them mid-spin and began performing flashy tricks. Cerakos, worried he might misfire, quickly pulled Cecilia behind him.
"That's right! I'm the number-one gunslinger of the Cunning Hares—White Chariot Billy!"
Only after striking his pose did Billy notice Cerakos's reaction. "What are you doing? Relax, it won't misfire. I didn't even load any bullets."
The admiration in Cecilia's eyes dimmed instantly. The Cunning Hares' poor reputation existed for a reason.
"Enough fooling around. Drive the truck. We're leaving." Ignis grabbed the robot without ceremony.
The Salamander waved goodbye to his two new friends. "I'll be waiting for your message."
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