The chamber hums with cold machinery, dozens of arcane-powered bio-forges and gene-reactors pulsing with red and blue light. The smell of sterilized steel, oil, and lingering burnt flesh sits heavy in the air—a reminder of the last hundred failures. A reminder of how close we are, and how far.
And now the next batch of test subjects stands before me.
Not D-Class this time.Field agents.
They look confused, tired, injured from their last mission… and unaware that they were already scheduled for termination after that disastrous encounter with SCP-682. Their willpower, however, is exceptional. They fought the reptile and survived long enough for extraction—that alone puts them beyond normal humans.
And right now, I need exceptional.
"Listen carefully," I say, stepping forward with my coat folded behind me, with two Red Hand troopers flanking my sides. My aura alone makes them stiffen. The serpentine swirl of the tomoe in my six-tomoe Rinnegan is enough to make most people's knees weaken.
"You have one chance to live," I continue. "One chance to serve the Foundation at a higher level than any human has ever achieved."
They look at one another, confused, frightened, unsure.
Good.
Fear means they understand the gravity.
I gesture toward the massive reinforced pod behind me—covered in runic circuitry, glowing wires of Uru and adamantium woven through the cybernetic frame, and a dozen SCP-derived stabilizers.
"This is the next iteration of the Astartes Conversion Protocol," I tell them. "A serum and augmentation process refined with the greatest minds of our era—Orochimaru, Lex Luthor, Bright, King, Senku, and guided personally by me."
Their eyes widen as they take in the monstrous machine.
"Fail," I say calmly, "and you die. Painfully. But you were scheduled for execution anyway."
I see the realization hit. Despair. Hope. Bitterness. A survival instinct sharpening behind their eyes.
"Survive," I finish, "and you will become the first true Space Marines in this universe."
The chamber falls silent.
A few swallow hard.One mutters a prayer.Another clenches his fists.
Good.Very good.
I motion to the assistants. "Prepare the serum."
A containment drone glides in, carrying a vial of shifting, glowing fluid—red, gold, and violet threaded like a living tapestry. A mixture of perfected genetic enhancements, SCP augmentation, warp-stabilized mutagenic frames, and the refined prototype of the Emperor's own design.
The first agent—a tall, scarred man with eyes like steel—steps forward.
"What happens now… ma'am?" he asks.
"Now," I say softly, "we see if your will is strong enough."
I inject the serum directly into his bloodstream.
Instantly his body convulses.
Bones shift.Muscles tear and re-form.The pod clamps around him as dozens of cables and needles embed into his spine, arms, ribs, skull.
His scream is swallowed into the machinery.
Good. That means it's working.
The others step back, horrified, but I raise a hand.
"This is nothing," I say coldly. "You haven't even begun your trials."
The pod seals shut with a thunderous hiss, machinery sparking to life. The chamber rumbles with arcane energy and the glow of stabilized warp-light. The readings spike higher than any D-Class trial before.
And then—
The pod stops shaking.
For a moment, everything is silent.
Then the front of the pod slowly opens. Steam hisses out.
The figure inside steps forward.
He is taller.Bulkier.Skin reinforced with sub-dermal plating.Eyes glowing faintly with psychic stability markers.
He doesn't collapse.He doesn't scream.He looks at his hands… and breathes.
He survived.
A grin creeps onto my face.
Finally.
Finally.
The others realize it too—that survival is possible. That this is real. Their expressions shift from terror to determination.
"Next," I command.
The second subject steps forward.
Another injection.Another scream.Another violent transformation.Another success.
Not perfect—but alive.
The third steps up before I even call for him. Good initiative.
By the time the fifth agent survives his transformation, I feel something inside me tighten—excitement, pride, and the cold satisfaction of progress.
After a full week of continuous trials, augmented with stabilizing runes, psychic dampeners, and thousands of microscopic corrections…
Twenty-three agents stand before me.
Huge.Armored by their own bodies.Strengthened in mind and flesh.Newly reborn.
Proto-Astartes.My Astartes.
Not perfect yet—modifications still required. Power armor still in refinement. Implants still being tailored.
But where there were a hundred failures…
Now stand twenty-three successes.
I step forward, hands clasped behind my back, Reality Stone glowing faintly against my chest.
"You are no longer field agents," I tell them. "You are the Vanguard."
Their bodies straighten.
"You will be the first soldiers in a new legion. A legion that will protect humanity from anomalies, gods, monsters, and cosmic threats."
A low rumble echoes as they all slam their fists to their chests in unison.
I feel something almost like pride swell in my chest.
"We are beginning," I whisper to myself.
And this time—
We are finally succeeding.