[The sharp crack-hiss of a lascannon volley—designed specifically for penetrating heavy armor—reverberates through the lower deck.]
[Blazing red beams erupt from behind the two Astartes, lancing toward them with unstoppable force.]
[The terrifying high-energy lasers punch completely through ceramite power armor like tissue paper.]
[One Astartes—caught mid-turn, no time to react—takes a direct hit through his helmet. The las-beam cooks his brain in an instant. He drops like a puppet with cut strings.]
[The second, more cautious Astartes takes the shot in his torso. The beam punches through his power pack and exits through his chest plate. Critically wounded but still alive, he collapses to one knee.]
[Even grievously injured, dying, the Space Marine props himself against the deck with one hand. He endures the agony of melting organs and raises his bolter toward the shooters behind him.]
[The lascannon shrieks again. This time the beam takes his entire arm off at the shoulder—ceramite armor and transhuman flesh melting together into slag.]
[Just when you thought you'd die standing uselessly with a laspistol, reinforcements finally arrive.]
[You exhale shakily and lower your weapon. Your hands tremble with adrenaline crash.]
[You step past the fallen Astartes corpses.]
[Captain Blackbeard operates the lascannon's cooling systems, assisted by one of your storm squad members—the sole survivor of the armory assault.]
[The realization hits immediately. Your commander and three other squad members seized the armory at the cost of their lives. They died buying you this chance.]
[Captain Blackbeard hands you a bolter without ceremony. The weapon feels heavy in your hands—designed for transhuman physiology, barely manageable for baseline mortals.]
[You stare upward through the deck plating, toward the bridge several levels above.]
[One Luna Wolves Astartes remains. The last obstacle between you and taking back this ship.]
[Week Eight: The armed hauler—now completely under loyalist control—suddenly breaks formation and peels away from Warmaster Horus's expedition fleet.]
[In the cold void, dozens of warships immediately respond. Laser cannon arrays and plasma macro-cannons track the fleeing vessel and open fire.]
[However, under Captain Blackbeard's expert piloting, the nimble hauler barely evades the initial salvo. Lance strikes flash past, missing by meters. Plasma torpedoes detonate against void shields, draining them but not yet breaking through.]
[Then a fleet-wide vox transmission cuts through all channels. Abaddon the Despoiler's voice—cold, authoritative, utterly without mercy.]
["An armed hauler carrying a Letalis Storm Squad has betrayed the Imperium of Man, corrupted by xenos influence. The traitor vessel intends to ram our expedition fleet and disrupt Warmaster Horus's strategic assault against alien forces."]
[A brief pause, then the final condemnation.]
["For the Imperium. For the Great Crusade's victory. For Warmaster Horus... sink them."]
[Instantly, the hauler's machine spirit is locked by targeting cogitators across the fleet. Plasma torpedoes launch from dozens of tubes, filling the void with converging death. Your escape routes collapse one by one.]
[Then every ship in range opens fire simultaneously. Laser cannons. Plasma macro-cannons. Lance strikes. The combined barrage completely engulfs the armed hauler in overlapping fields of fire.]
[The hull disintegrates under the onslaught. Bulkheads collapse. Compartments explosively decompress. The ship is dying.]
[But even as the vessel breaks apart, you and your last surviving squad member launch from the cargo bay in a Shark assault boat.]
[You burst through the expanding fireball of the hauler's death throes and accelerate at maximum burn toward the expedition fleet.]
[You carry with you the questions of countless fallen comrades. Captain Blackbeard's dying wishes. The truth about what's really happening.]
[You plan to board Warmaster Horus's flagship. A one-way boarding action. You'll die, but maybe someone will hear the truth before the end.]
[Unfortunately, the Shark assault boat doesn't travel far.]
[You don't even enter the engagement range of the fleet's escort frigates.]
[A God-Spear lance strike from the Warmaster's flagship—Vengeful Spirit—lances across the void with pinpoint accuracy.]
[The Shark attempts evasion. Too slow. Too small. Too exposed.]
[The lance beam melts and disintegrates your assault boat in a fraction of a second.]
[You're wrapped in terrifying heat beyond human comprehension. Your body melts. Vaporizes. Becomes nothing.]
[You died knowing the truth that most would never believe.]
[Simulation terminated. Duration: fifty-six days.]
[Retainable rewards available.]
[Option 1: Plasma Torpedo (Unarmed)]
[Option 2: Shark Assault Boat Operation Manual (Complete)]
[Option 3: Letalis Storm Squad Combat Experience (One Month)]
[Simulation duration exceeded 24 hours. Simulator cooldown penalty applied.]
[Cooldown period: fifty-six hours.]
[Current available cooldown reduction: 497 hours.]
[Consume cooldown reduction time?]
[Cooldown reduction declined. Simulator entering natural cooldown cycle.]
The simulation ended.
Nolan sat cross-legged on his cot, staring at the survival time displayed. Still couldn't break past two months. His brow furrowed with frustration.
But when his eyes fell on the reward options, his expression softened.
This simulation hadn't featured extensive combat—mostly stealth, planning, and one brief firefight. He'd expected minimal physical enhancement.
He selected combat experience without hesitation.
At the same time, he couldn't help muttering, "Shame I didn't get a bolter to test against Astartes-equivalent targets. Wonder if the salvage function will eventually cough one up..."
Before he finished speaking, the transformation began.
His entire body underwent wonderful changes. Muscle tissue across his frame didn't expand in volume this time. Instead, the structural morphology shifted—fibers reorganizing themselves like repeatedly twisted steel cables, denser and stronger than before.
His skeletal structure, already hard as reinforced steel from previous enhancements, became even more durable. The bone density increased impossibly, adding both height and mass.
Nolan grew from 1.85 meters to a full 1.9 meters tall.
Simultaneously, even the stratum corneum of his skin developed a subtle crystalline luster—more pronounced than before, catching the light in strange ways.
Excited, Nolan leaped up from the floor. He examined his exposed forearm closely, turning it under the light.
When his fingertips scraped across the skin, there was a faint metallic scraping sound.
Nolan blinked in amazement.
Ordinary pistol rounds probably wouldn't penetrate anymore. Maybe not even rifle ammunition at certain angles.
He wondered if his Catachan Fang could still cut through the repeatedly reinforced epidermis. Worth testing.
Nolan decided to head down to the secret base immediately and run some experiments.
But as he opened his bedroom door, he heard the front entrance opening. His aunt returning from work.
In the living room, she set down her motorcycle helmet on the side table. Then she squinted up at Nolan standing in his doorway, head tilted with confusion.
"Nolan... why do I feel like you've gotten taller again? Is your team's training really that effective?"
Nolan smiled and deflected with humor. "Aunt, I'm only eighteen. My growth period hasn't ended yet. Haven't you noticed my appetite is absolutely terrifying these days?"
"Oh, if business wasn't booming right now, I'm not sure I could afford to feed you..." His aunt walked toward her bedroom, laughing.
As she reached her doorway, she paused and turned back, as if suddenly remembering something.
"By the way, your high school teacher called me. Asked about how you've been doing lately."
Her expression shifted slightly, taking on a more serious cast.
"Apparently several girls from your school have gone missing recently. The teacher wanted to know if you'd heard any rumors or gossip among the students. Thought you might know something."
Nolan's eyes narrowed fractionally. His voice remained casual, but something cold entered his tone.
"I haven't been to school in weeks. What news would I possibly have?"
His aunt paused, then nodded slowly. "That's true..."