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"You mean… you've found another battle-brother?" Gotthardt Stahlgriff stared at the big black face on the video call, his mind buzzing.
"Technically, two—but one of them has gone out of control," Ignis explained. "They're from the Blood Angels successor chapter, the Lamenters. Truly good people."
"Out of control? You mean… in Black Rage?" The veteran remembered what the Salamander had told him about the Blood Angels—after their Primarch's demise, the gene-seed carried a terrible curse.
"Yes. Cerakos wants me to help free Sergeant Calix, who has succumbed to the Black Rage," the Salamander sighed. "He arrived years before us but has always operated in secrecy—he still doesn't have an official status."
"I don't either—I'm just an Adeptus Mechanicus construct." The old veteran shrugged. "So… you're not planning to bring him to see me? Or are you waiting until you've solved his issue before introducing this battle-brother?"
"Pretty much. His gear is badly damaged; I need to perform some maintenance first." The Salamander showed the power sword. "Otherwise, it's just a piece of metal."
"Fine, I'll wait for you to bring him. A few days left in the holiday—hope you can make it in time." Gotthardt suddenly remembered, "By the way, where's your partner? I don't think I saw her."
"Jane Doe had some business. After we neutralized Slaanesh's drugs today, we ran into a gang of serious criminals during the evacuation. Cerakos and I beat them up, rounded them all up, and handed them to Public Security," Ignis pouted. "Originally, we weren't supposed to file a report, but they still called us in."
"Why not just hand the criminals to me? Lately, Ben keeps saying manpower costs are rising. Using criminals as labor should work, right? In my opinion, your Public Security is way too lenient." The veteran clearly cared about Belobog Heavy Industries' affairs… though in this direction…
"That's… New Eridu has its own laws. Can't pull that here." Ignis quickly blocked the old veteran's idea.
"Of course I know, just joking." The old veteran's face was as rigid as a statue. "If you need heavy firepower, contact me. Koleda's calling me—I'm teaching her how to design a proper defense system. Even if it's just a sandbox exercise, she's learning fast."
"Alright… I won't disturb you." Ignis wondered if the Belobog boss was starting to head in a weird direction.
But facing a Black Rage Lamenters sergeant wouldn't require a Leviathan Dreadnought… From Cerakos' account, he wanted to end the old battle-brother's suffering personally, giving him a dignified death. If the Wrath of Terra came… the scene could be messy. Whether it's heat-ray cannons on limbs or that massive siege claw, Black Rage Calix wouldn't have a dignified end.
Putting down the phone, Ignis' gaze landed on the Lamenter hiding nearby. This battle-brother refused to meet the legendary ancient veteran from the Siege of Terra era over video, believing it disrespectful.
"He's easy to talk to. You don't need to be so nervous." Ignis looked at the Space Marine, now in civilian clothes, sitting on the Salamander's bed.
"You wouldn't be nervous? A brother from millennia ago, whose honors fill stone monuments—he even met the Emperor. And you want me to video call him?" Cerakos shivered at the thought.
"You'd better bring a gift, wear formal gear, and schedule the visit in advance."
The Salamander noticed his own anxiety. Gotthardt was easy-going, yes—but if he were a strict old-school veteran, awakening him might've ended with a claw through Cerakos.
Cerakos saw the Salamander's expression darken and started sweating. He realized he hadn't appreciated how formidable the ancient Dreadnought was—so powerful and great that the old veteran had restrained himself when being awakened.
"If you go visit, consider bringing two barrels of beer—he's really into it lately." The Salamander patted him. "Relax—you'll meet him eventually. He's a trustworthy senior. When I mentioned you, he was happy. Maybe next time, he'll tell tales of the Great Crusade—he saw the Emperor walk among them."
Though best not to mention that in front of me—the Emperor on the throne might be eavesdropping daily.
Ignis muttered to himself but kept quiet.
"Also… I didn't expect your place to be so fancy." Cerakos looked around. "Though your room seems more like a warehouse plus a forge."
When the flexible mechanical arms extended from the ceiling, the Lamenter jumped.
"Relax, it's just auxiliary equipment." Ignis handed the power sword to an arm, then began dismantling the shell around the decomposition generator.
"Your place isn't bad either," the Salamander continued without pausing, "a grape trellis in the yard. Old, but cozy."
Cerakos sighed. "Tyrannus built it—he knew I liked fruit. Buying fresh stuff was expensive, and he was a rookie Proxy back then. To save money, he planted a trellis. The grapes weren't great, but I liked them."
"Can you tell me more? About Tyrannus. I think it'll feel better to speak."
The generator's shell was removed. A mechanical arm scanned and modeled it for future use.
"When I met him, he was almost sixty. His son, also a Proxy, had passed recently, leaving Cecilia—just a child. School costs were high, so Tyrannus took up his son's trade as a Proxy." Cerakos smiled slightly.
"At the time, I had escaped Sergeant Calix but got lost in a Hollow. I didn't expect to wander forever—then met Tyrannus."
"He was being chased by a pack of Ethereals. I saved him, and he guided me out. I had nowhere to go; he took me in, teaching me about New Eridu."
"We started working together, taking jobs in Hollows—rescuing, retrieving, or even revenge."
"Faunus Quarter isn't safe, but I could fight. Slowly, I gained some reputation; thugs stayed away from Tyrannus and Cecilia."
"I thought these days could last… until a month ago. A friend from the Outer Ring needed help. I went, but returned to find only Cecilia."
The Lamenter clenched his fists, restraining his rage, blaming himself for not returning sooner.
"What about the girl? Will she become a Proxy?"
The decomposition generator had a minor fault; the Salamander tried to repair it.
"She completed her education. Higher-level studies are expensive; first, she must support herself. Proxy work was the highest-yield option, with Tyrannus' resources and connections. I will protect her—this time, I will." Cerakos sighed.
"Bad news—the generator parts are broken. No suitable replacements. What a headache." Ignis shook his head at the power sword.
This was a masterfully crafted weapon. Ignis could feel the maker's care just by touching it—the hammering, shaping, the prayers. Steel infused with willpower, slowly taking form in the master's hands.
"Still sharp, though. Usable." Cerakos stood, reaching for the sword.
Ignis retrieved his intact power gauntlet.
"Good news—I have a better one." He showed the weapon. "Remove the power field generator component, retrofit it—it'll the job."
Lamenters looked unsure—the gauntlet was clearly his weapon.
"What about you?"
"Me?" Ignis smirked. "You doubt a master smith lacks weapons?"
The giant displayed his arsenal: shields, thunder hammers, autocannons, shotguns, and custom explosives.
"You can take some bombs back. Cylinders are anti-personnel—five kilograms of potent ether explosives. Pre-fragmented shells, steel beads added. The conical anti-armor grenades—now three kilos instead of ten, enough for most targets."
"After seeing your incendiary use, maybe I should make some too."
Lamenters' eyes widened—most military gear was either too expensive or underpowered for him. Until now, he used only his power sword and Tyrannus' homemade bombs.
"You're just leave these lying around? Aren't you afraid they'll explode?" Cerakos stared—these devices could flatten a city block. Tyrannus had nearly died making bombs.
"Relax—I installed safeties." Ignis seemed baffled. The explosives were safe without detonators; the grenades had multiple safeties.
"Tyrannus moved the workshop to the old school so there'd be a place to hide if things went wrong." Cerakos accepted the grenades from the Salamander.
The bombs were huge—like small watermelons. Unlike watermelons, these could level the building and nearby market.
"Good, the models match. Fortunately, our eras aren't too far apart, or the gear wouldn't be compatible."
As Cerakos marveled, the Salamander dismantled the gauntlet's power unit.
"Isn't that too precious… you really have no alternatives?" Lamenters tried to stop him, but the grenades held his hands.
"You need it more. Don't worry—I'll find a replacement someday." Ignis removed the broken power field generator with mechanical assistance.
"But…"
"Facing a Black Rage sergeant isn't easy. Your gear must function properly." the Salamander's words erased Cerakos' doubts. "You don't want me doing it all, right?"
The Lamenter fell silent, knowing his gear wasn't enough to face a Black Rage battle-brother. He wanted to help Calix himself.
"Your armor needs repair too. Tell me about the sergeant—maybe you'll inherit his armor." Ignis began installing the decomposition generator.
"He's… serious, but not overly so." Cerakos set aside the grenades.
"When I became a candidate, Calix was already a sergeant. We underwent trials under his leadership; few passed. He felt guilty for the dead, though he saved most." Lamenters lowered his head, voice low.
"I admired him… wanted to be a veteran like him. That belief drove me through surgery and training. When I joined the chapter, he congratulated me."
"Different squads, but often fought together. During the Badab War, we stormed the Minotaur Chapter's lines. He led the assault, breaking their defenses in minutes."
"But we still lost… survivors went on a penitent crusade. When you sent supplies, he allocated me a pair of lightning claws. In the next fights, we were more united until hit by Chaos warp sorcery."
"When I awoke, Calix was caring for me. We planned to return to the chapter, but he fell silent."
"I thought he was just moody… then he fell into Black Rage."
"I thought I could help him… I couldn't. Only escaped using minor psychic tricks."
"But I kept him there all along."
A gust of wind interrupted him. Ignis handed him the sword.
"Fixed it—go try it."
Cerakos was stunned—it took far less time than expected.
Ignis opened the garage. The Lamenter stepped into the courtyard, sword in hand. Pressing the charge button, the blade glowed pale blue with crackling arcs.
"So, after all these years… he's still there?" Ignis handed him the lever-action shotgun.
"Yes, in a Hollow in Faunus Quarter. I check sometimes—he's still there. He attacks anyone or any Ethereals nearby, consuming them."
Cerakos sheathed the sword in the ground.
"How can I thank you? There's little I can do."
Ignis met his blue eyes. "I help because I need you. Chaos is invading this world. I need every trustworthy friend."
"Oh, do you like flamethrowers?" Ignis picked up the gauntlet. "I can make it handheld. Oh, and the autocannon—do you want it?"
"Ah?"
Cerakos was overwhelmed. the Salamander's enthusiasm was hard to comprehend—like the people who sent supplies before the penitent crusade.
When he returned home, Cecilia saw him holding a huge plastic bag, bulging.
"What's that? Watermelons?"
"No… bombs capable of leveling a whole Quarter." Cerakos froze.
"What?! How did you bring that home? Grandpa's old house can't take that!" Cecilia panicked.
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