Chapter 87: The Ardent Son

The sky above the Kree world burned. Not with the warmth of a sunset or the glow of a foreign sun, but with fire and fury. Ships of the Imperium streaked across the heavens like falling stars. Thunder rumbled from the ground and from the sky. Drop-pods broke the clouds like meteors, slamming into the surface with unstoppable force. Each pod carried the Emperor’s vengeance, forged in fire and clad in ceramite.

In one of those pods stood Ardent, a Space Marine of the XVIII Legion. He was one of Vulkan’s sons, and his armor bore the black and bronze colors of the Salamanders. Flames were carved into his pauldrons and gauntlets, symbols of his father’s teachings. His eyes glowed with focus and purpose, not just as a warrior, but as a man who carried the weight of something greater than himself.

Before he was Ardent the Astartes, he was a boy. He came from Earth, from the streets of New York City. The world had not been touched by war then. The people lived in peace, their buildings tall, their lights bright, and their lives ordinary. But for Ardent, life had never been easy. He had no family. No name anyone remembered. He grew up in silence, ignored by those who walked past him on the busy sidewalks. He was a shadow among millions.

Then the Emperor came.

The golden light of the Master of Mankind shined upon the world, and with it came change. The Emperor did not just conquer. He chose. He searched the world not only for the strong, but for those who had endured. Orphans. Survivors. Those who had known pain and had not been broken by it.

Ardent was one of the first to be chosen. He remembered the moment clearly, even now. The golden figure stood before him, eyes burning with power and kindness. The Emperor had not spoken many words. He had simply extended his hand. Ardent took it without question. From that day on, he had a name, a purpose, and a destiny.

He was taken far from the city he once knew. Taken to the forges of Vulkan, where fire molded flesh and spirit alike. There, he was reforged. His body became a weapon. His mind became focused. His soul was hardened in the crucible of training. He became a Salamander, one of the Emperor’s angels of death.

Now, that angel had descended onto a world of enemies.

The pod opened with a loud hiss. Ardent stepped out into the smoke and heat of battle. The air was thick with the scent of fire and metal. The ground shook with every explosion. Around him, his brothers landed in waves. The Salamanders emerged like walking infernos, their flamers lighting up the battlefield. The Kree defenders were caught off guard. Their defensive lines collapsed in seconds.

Ardent moved like a storm. His heavy boots crushed the soil. His flamer roared, spewing fire that turned Kree soldiers into ash. They shouted and fired back, but it was already too late. The element of surprise was complete. The Primarchs had launched their attacks on multiple worlds at the same time. There was no warning. No time to organize. No chance to retreat.

He pressed forward through the ruins of an enemy outpost. The Kree tried to hold the corridors with plasma rifles and barricades, but nothing held for long. Ardent’s hammer smashed through walls and armor alike. Fire cleansed the corridors behind him. His brothers advanced with the same fury, their movements precise and brutal.

In one room, a group of Kree engineers tried to surrender. Ardent hesitated only for a moment. Then he pulled the trigger. Fire swept across them. He did not kill out of cruelty. He did it because they were the enemy. They had chosen to make war on mankind. They had stood against the Emperor’s dream. There was no mercy for such choices. Only fire.

He remembered what Vulkan had taught him. They were not cruel. They did not kill for pleasure. But they did what must be done. To protect humanity. To ensure peace through strength. Compassion was earned, not given freely.

The Kree world began to fall. Their command centers burned. Their leaders were hunted down. Their ships were shot out of the sky. This was not just an invasion. This was judgment.

Ardent stood over the remains of a fallen Kree captain. The alien had fought well, but even its skill was no match for a son of Vulkan. He wiped the blood from his hammer and looked up at the burning sky.

He thought of Earth. He thought of New York. He wondered if the city still remembered the boy who had once slept under its bridges. The boy who had been invisible.

Now, he was a god of war. A symbol of fire and strength.

He was not afraid. Not of death. Not of pain. He had been given a gift by the Emperor. A second chance. A purpose. And he would honor it until his last breath.

The vox crackled in his ear. Orders came in. New targets. New outposts. The attack would not stop here. The Imperium would keep pushing until the Kree were broken completely.

Ardent looked to the east, where another city loomed in the distance. Its towers were still standing. Its defenses had not yet been touched.

He raised his hammer.

“For the Emperor,” he whispered. “For Vulkan.”

Then he walked toward the fire, ready to bring the storm once more.


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(Sorry for the delay of update, I gotten ill🤧, yep fever, didn't want to even woke up but continued writing)