The past months had been a whirlwind of change for Daedren. His body, forged in the fires of Nocturne’s harsh environment, had been altered in ways he couldn’t have imagined. The implantation of the secondary heart, biscopea, and ossmodula had been the first step in his transformation into a Space Marine, but even though those changes were subtle in the beginning, Daedren now felt the difference in every fiber of his being.
He had grown accustomed to the new rhythm of his body. His strength was greater, his endurance seemingly endless. His bones were thicker, harder, and his chest felt broader, more robust, like he was being built from the inside out, a machine of war. But with these changes came new responsibilities, and Daedren had immersed himself in his training, particularly at the forge.
Three months of intense forging lessons had shaped him into a craftsman. Under the guidance of the master blacksmiths, Daedren had gone from learning the basics of metalwork to forging small swords that could withstand the rigors of combat. The once unfamiliar weight of the hammer now felt natural in his hands, and each strike on the anvil resonated with the controlled power he had developed. His body moved in harmony with the metal, shaping it as easily as his instructors had shaped him.
But his journey was far from over.
Today marked the beginning of the next phase of his transformation: the implantation of the Haemastamen, phase four of the gene-seed process. This would be the first time the Apothecaries had implanted a new organ since Daedren's initial procedure. The Haemastamen was a critical part of his development, responsible for restructuring his blood to accept the changes from the other gene-seed organs. It worked in tandem with the Larraman's organ, which would come later, to enhance his healing abilities, making him more resistant to injury and blood loss.
Though phase four and phase five (the Larraman’s Organ) were often implanted together in younger aspirants, the Apothecaries had decided to implant them separately for Daedren. His body, though stronger than ever, was still a few years older than the ideal age for implantation, and they did not want to overburden his system. The risks of rejection were higher at his age, and even though his previous implants had integrated successfully, the Apothecaries were cautious. This time, they would proceed with only the Haemastamen, allowing his body to adapt before the next step.
The Apothecarion was a place Daedren had come to know well over the last few months, though each time he entered, the atmosphere weighed heavily on him. The stark white walls, the soft hum of machinery, and the sterile scent of antiseptic were a stark contrast to the fiery forge or the roaring training halls. Here, everything was controlled, calculated, no room for error.
Daedren lay on the cold, metal operating table, the familiar sensation of small doses of calming agents flowing into his system. The Apothecary overseeing his procedure today was Brother Harvath, a figure who embodied the balance between scientific precision and the near-religious reverence the Chapter held for the gene-seed implantation process. Harvath’s expression was calm, methodical, as he prepared the necessary instruments, but his eyes betrayed the weight of responsibility that lay before him.
“You’ve done well so far, Daedren,” Harvath said, his voice deep and steady, the sound of a man who had performed countless surgeries over his years in the Chapter. “But this phase requires careful preparation. Your body has been adapting well to the previous implants, but the Haemastamen will push your system further. It will affect your blood, restructure it so that it can handle the further changes that will come.”
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Daedren nodded, feeling a familiar tension settle in his chest. He had come to trust the Apothecaries, but there was always a part of him that wondered what would happen if something went wrong. He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the task ahead.
Harvath gestured to the other Apothecaries in the room, who moved silently, preparing the various tools and machines needed for the procedure. Daedren knew that this was only the beginning; after this, there would be more surgeries, more changes, each one bringing him closer to becoming a full Astartes. But today, his focus was on this moment, this phase.
The Haemastamen was a small organ, but its role in the transformation was critical. It would modify Daedren’s blood, increasing the oxygen-carrying capacity of his red blood cells and making his body more efficient at healing. Over time, it would also allow his body to handle the stress of future implants, ensuring that his blood could nourish and sustain the superhuman changes that were still to come.
As Harvath explained this, Daedren felt the slight sting of an IV being inserted into his arm. The calming drugs were already flowing through his system, but they were mild, designed to take the edge off without dulling his senses completely. This was not a procedure that allowed for heavy sedation. Like the previous implants, Daedren had to remain conscious and aware.
“This will take time,” Harvath said, his voice low as he moved to the side, preparing the incision site on Daedren’s chest. “We’ll monitor your body’s reaction closely. If anything feels wrong, you must tell us immediately.”
Daedren nodded again, his heart pounding steadily in his chest. His secondary heart, implanted months before, thumped in rhythm with his primary one, both of them working together to circulate his blood. Soon, that blood would change, become something more.
The room seemed to fall silent as Harvath began. Daedren felt the sharp bite of the scalpel near his aorta. He clenched his jaw, focusing on the ceiling above him as the Apothecaries worked.
The procedure was meticulous. Every movement, every cut, was precise. Harvath worked with the skill of a surgeon, but there was a reverence in his actions, as though he were performing a sacred rite. To the Salamanders, the gene-seed implantation was more than just a medical procedure, it was a transformation, a process that brought them closer to Vulkan and the ideals of the Chapter.
An hour passed, though Daedren's mind still drifted in and out of consciousness, his thoughts occasionally slipping into a haze as the Apothecaries worked. The sensation of the Haemastamen being inserted into his body was strange, a mix of pressure and discomfort as the small organ was connected to his aorta and circulatory system. He could feel the changes almost immediately, a warmth spreading through his chest as his blood began to adapt.
The room was filled with the soft hum of machinery and the occasional murmur of the Apothecaries as they monitored his vitals. Daedren focused on his breathing, steadying himself as his body adjusted to the new organ. The process was surprisingly fast, and he could feel the difference. His blood felt... thicker, heavier, as though it were carrying more than just oxygen now. It was as if his very life force had been amplified, strengthened by the changes taking place inside him.
The Apothecaries had worked very precisely, ensuring that every connection, every graft, was perfect. There was no room for error. Daedren’s body was older than most so they had worked extremely well and carefully. The Ossmodula had already begun reshaping his bones, and now the Haemastamen was altering his blood to sustain those changes.
“You’ve done well,” Harvath said, his voice softer now. “The Haemastamen is in place. Your body will need time to adjust.”
Daedren could only nod weakly, his body still trembling from the strain. The pain was very manageable, the calming drugs did help him a lot, he was relieved that the procedure was not overly long or painful, but as he understood it, now they had to see how his body would react. He nonetheless survived another phase, taken another step toward becoming a full Space Marine.
As the Apothecaries cleaned up and prepared to move him to recovery, Daedren closed his eyes, letting the still present exhaustion wash over him. He had endured. And though the road ahead was still long, he knew that with each implant, each trial, he was coming closer to becoming what he was meant to be, a Salamander.