Looking back on the year, I remember it not as a simple sequence of events but as a forge of moments, each one hammering, bending, and reshaping me into something unrecognizable from the boy I once was. Each implant, each lesson, every setback and achievement fused into a continuous progression that pushed me closer to the man, and the weapon, I was meant to become.
It was early in the year when the Apothecarion called me in for the next implantation, the Oolitic Kidney. By then, I had gone through the early phases with enough resilience that Seranon, the Apothecary, seemed confident I could withstand the next trials without issue. But even as he made his evaluations, there was a seriousness in his eyes, a quiet understanding of what each new phase represented. I’d heard about enough young aspirants who had not made it to this point, whose bodies rebelled, rejecting the sacred organs they were meant to carry. I knew, even before he said it, that this phase was crucial. The Oolitic Kidney would further prepare my body for the harsh conditions of war, able to counteract most toxins and poisons that might try to claim my life on the battlefield.
The Oolitic Kidney procedure itself wasn’t unlike the others in its intensity, but there was a strange solemnity in the air that day. Seranon’s hands had moved with a practiced precision as he positioned me on the operating slab, murmuring a prayer beneath his breath. It was almost as if he believed the machine spirits of the Apothecarion themselves needed appeasement to ensure my survival.
The process had begun with a series of injections to deaden the area around my lower back where the kidney would be placed. I had known better than to expect numbness, it was only meant to dull the worst of the sensation, keeping my mind clear for what was to come. The initial incisions had burned like fire, and even as I had focused my breathing, sweat began to bead along my brow. Seranon’s voice had been calm, his words distant but grounding, describing each step he took as if guiding me through a forge of my own body. Time seemed to bend and stretch, each second crawling as the kidney was carefully integrated with my existing organs, its specialized filters designed to protect my body from toxins and to grant me resilience beyond the capabilities of ordinary men.
That day the pain had been sharp, searing, as he secured the final connections. But as the procedure concluded, I had felt a strange clarity take hold, the weight of the implant settling into my body. The following weeks after the implant, I had sensed a subtle change, a newfound resistance in my blood, a cleansing strength I could almost feel as it coursed through me. The Oolitic Kidney was more than just an enhancement; it was a shield, a guard against the poisons and toxins I would inevitably encounter.
Yet that was only the beginning. The weeks and months had flowed onward, my days a continuous blur of training and forging, my nights were filled with studying the ancient tomes and scrolls in the Chapter’s libraries.
By the time the Neuroglottis implantation came, the forge had become as much a part of me as the implants themselves. I could feel the weight of the hammer in my hands as if it were an extension of my own arm, each strike reverberating through my bones in a way that felt natural, as if I had been meant for this work all along. But the Neuroglottis was different; it was an implant that alters the senses, changes the way I perceived the world around me.
I remember the day of that surgery with vivid clarity. Seranon once again prepared me, his steady hands guiding the instruments into place. This implant was delicate, more so than the previous phases, as it required careful integration with my sensory nerves. As he worked, I could feel each connection being made, the sharp sting of nerve endings fusing with the Neuroglottis. Pain blurred my vision, but I had kept my focus, determined to accept this gift, no matter the cost.
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In the days following the Neuroglottis implantation, the world shifted around me. It was subtle at first, a faint smell, a hint of something I hadn’t noticed before. But soon, the forge became a symphony of scents and sensations. I could detect the impurities in the metal by scent alone, distinguish the different alloys by the faint metallic tang they left in the air. I could even sense the faintest trace of sweat and heat, the earthy scent of coal mingling with the sharper tang of molten steel. It was as if the world had opened up before me, revealing a layer of detail I’d never known existed.
It was around that time that I celebrated my eighteenth birthday. The Apothecarion marked it without ceremony, but for me, it was a moment of quiet reflection, a recognition of how far I had come. I’d become something more than I’d ever imagined, my body reshaped by the gene-seed, my mind sharpened by the forge and the trials I had endured. I was no longer just a young man from Nocturne; I was something else entirely, something forged in the fires of the Salamanders’ legacy.
The months had passed in a blur of metal and flame. My skill in the forge further grew, with each passing day, my hands moving with a practiced ease. I crafted blades and hammers, shields and small weapon parts that bore the marks of my own hand. Each one was a testament to my growth, a reflection of the discipline and patience that had been drilled into me. And now I was allowed to observe the process of adamantium synthesis, a task reserved for the most skilled artisans, and while I was not yet permitted to touch the alloy, I watched with an intense focus, studying every movement, every adjustment of the machines.
It wasn’t until after the Mucranoid implantation that I was finally allowed to interact with the adamantium machines. By then, my body had adapted to the transformations, my muscles and bones hardened by the gene-seed’s influence. The Mucranoid had been another test of endurance, a procedure that left me gasping for breath, my veins burning with the chemical infusion that would allow me to withstand extreme environments. It was a gift of resilience, one that I knew would serve me well in the battles to come.
The Mucranoid had altered my body’s response to heat and pressure, granting me a tolerance for conditions that would have once left me incapacitated. In the forge, I could withstand the intense temperatures with ease, my body adapting to the environment as if it were second nature. And with that newfound resilience, I was finally granted access to the adamantium synthesis machines.
Working with adamantium was unlike anything I had experienced. The metal was temperamental, its composition requiring precise control and careful handling. I watched the master forgemasters manipulate the machines, their movements slow and deliberate, each adjustment made with a reverence that bordered on the sacred. The process was intricate, each element carefully measured and combined to create the alloy that would become the backbone of the Chapter’s armor and weapons.
Under their guidance, I learned to operate the machines, my hands guided by their steady instructions. It was a delicate dance, each movement calculated to avoid contaminating the alloy, each step a test of my patience and skill. The adamantium was unforgiving, and any mistake would ruin the entire batch. But I had been trained to endure, to persevere through pain and failure, and I applied that same discipline to my work with the machines.
As the year drew to a close, I looked back on the months that had passed with a sense of awe. I had grown, my body and mind reshaped. Closer and closer to be the weapon and tool of the Emperor’s will, and I would carry that purpose with me into the fires of life.