The underground base's training ground hummed with mechanical activity.
Nolan wore nothing but a pair of tight compression shorts, his tall frame glistening with sweat as he navigated through a deliberately complex obstacle course. His bare feet slapped against the metal floor with rhythmic precision, each step calculated despite the growing exhaustion weighing down his limbs.
Droplets of turbid sweat flew from his body with each sharp movement, splattering carelessly across the polished metal surface. The liquid left dark trails that caught the harsh overhead lighting.
Automatic servo robots circled him like mechanical predators, their tentacles whipping through the air with pneumatic hisses. The tentacles weren't meant to seriously injure, just to strike hard enough to leave marks, to punish mistakes, to keep him honest during training.
Nolan's breathing had become ragged, his chest heaving with effort. His body showed clear signs of excessive physical consumption: muscles trembling from sustained exertion, movements losing their usual fluid grace, reactions slowing by crucial milliseconds.
A mechanical tentacle shot forward faster than the others.
Nolan tried to dodge, twisting his torso, but his exhausted body couldn't respond quickly enough. The tentacle's tip caught him across the spine with a sharp crack of impact.
A huge welt appeared immediately, the skin already congesting and swelling, angry red darkening toward purple. Pain lanced through his back, sharp and clarifying.
Nolan's feet moved instinctively, carrying him out of the robot's immediate attack range. He created distance, buying seconds to recover, to refocus.
Then he twisted his neck with sudden violence, vertebrae popping audibly.
His recently trimmed short hair emphasized the predatory sharpness of his features as he stared directly at the automatic servo robot that had struck him. His expression transformed into something terrifying and fierce, all pretense of humanity stripped away to reveal the predator beneath.
At that moment, in the deepest depths of his cyan wolf pupils, black circles emerged and began spreading outward like ripples in dark water. The pattern was hypnotic, organic, wrong in a way that defied rational explanation.
Nolan's footsteps slid forward, his body moving with renewed purpose.
Then he simply vanished.
Disappeared completely, as if he'd been nothing more than dissipating smoke, leaving only empty air where a two-meter-tall warrior had stood an instant before.
The servo robot's sensors swept the area frantically, searching for its target. Thermal imaging showed nothing. Motion detectors registered no movement. Visual systems confirmed empty space.
The next moment came with a tremendous roar of metal colliding with metal.
A tall figure gradually emerged from the large shadow cast by the servo robot's own bulk, materializing from darkness like a nightmare given physical form. Nolan's fist was already in motion, having appeared mid-swing.
The punch connected with devastating force, catching the robot's central chassis dead center. Metal crumpled under the impact. Circuits sparked and died. The sparring partner that had been searching for its missing target collapsed in a shower of debris, knocked completely offline by a single strike.
Buzz buzz buzz...
More automatic servo robots immediately pivoted toward the commotion, their mechanical tentacles rising in preparation to continue the training exercise.
But Nolan stood gasping, his chest heaving violently. The black circles in his eyes disappeared rapidly, fading as quickly as they'd appeared. His breathing rhythm had become completely disordered, each inhalation shallow and insufficient.
He raised both palms toward the approaching robots, making an urgent gesture to suspend training.
The dozen-plus automatic servo robots instantly retracted their dancing mechanical tentacles, motors whirring as the appendages folded back into storage positions. Several units moved forward efficiently, lifting the damaged sparring robot between them with coordinated precision. They carried their fallen companion toward the training ground's exit, likely heading for the repair bay.
Nolan took several deep breaths in succession, trying desperately to force his breathing back into a sustainable rhythm. His hand rose to touch his forehead, fingers coming away slick with sweat that stung his eyes.
He couldn't help but release a long sigh. "It seems the ganglion modification surgery brings not only changes to the sleep," he muttered to himself, "but also access to Primarch Corax's special talents."
Through days of unremitting training and methodical exploration, Nolan had finally begun understanding the many changes Corax's ganglion had brought to his physiology.
First, he could now control his sleep time at will. This was the modification surgery's basic function, allowing him to decide consciously when to rest and when to remain alert. The temporary failure of his body's natural sleep mechanism over the past weeks had simply been a necessary adaptation period, a small price his physiology paid while gradually integrating the new neural tissue.
More importantly, his brain had learned to access a stealth ability he was calling "Shadow Step."
Just like the animal instincts granted by the "Heart of Leman Russ" belonging to the Wolf King, this new capability operated on an intuitive level that bypassed conscious thought.
Nolan had inherited some of the Primarch's special talents through Corax's ganglion tissue. The ability allowed him to use any shadow in his vicinity, no matter how small, to complete short-distance movement that resembled teleportation. Not true teleportation through the Warp, but rather impossibly fast physical movement that exploited shadows as transit points.
However, with Nolan's current physical conditioning and his incomplete modification surgeries, performing Shadow Step as freely and repeatedly as a true Primarch would be a long and arduous journey. He was operating with borrowed abilities his body wasn't fully equipped to handle.
"If I use it even once, I exhaust all my energy reserves," Nolan thought, lowering his head in contemplation. His voice continued in a low mutter. "I won't want to move a single finger afterward. If I weren't afraid of sustaining serious injury, I might be able to force a second use through sheer willpower and adrenaline. For now, Shadow Step can serve as a life-saving measure, a final desperate option when all else fails."
Nolan gradually recovered some energy as he stood there, his breathing finally stabilizing. He took heavy steps toward the training ground's exit, his exhausted body protesting every movement.
"My Lord, have you completed your training?"
David's voice cut through his contemplation. The Man of Iron emerged from the underground passage, its slightly hunched metal back shifting as its tall frame moved with surprising grace for something mechanical. Blue light flashed in its optical sensors as it focused on Nolan.
"It's over," Nolan replied, a slight smile crossing his face. His tone was relaxed despite his physical exhaustion. "My problem has been solved. David, do you need to report anything to me?"
David nodded its metal head up and down, the gesture almost human in its familiarity. It turned sideways and raised one metal arm, gesturing for Nolan to walk with it.
"First, there is communication from Ms. Jessica." David's mechanical voice carried a note of something that might have been amusement. "After settling the issue with her friend, Ms. Jessica successfully brought her companion to New York as planned. However, they seem to have encountered situations requiring 'heroic intervention' during their travels. Not only have they deviated significantly from their established route, but they have now entered Mexico and are apparently playing what she described as 'whack-a-mole' with local gangs."
David paused, its optical sensors brightening slightly. "Because the delay has extended far beyond the original timeline, Ms. Jessica, who apparently does not dare report the current situation to you directly, needs me to relay this information and humbly request your understanding."
Nolan blinked rapidly, processing this information. Then he suddenly raised his palm and slapped it against his forehead with a wet smack.
"There have been so many things happening lately that I almost completely forgot I have an apprentice Adepta Sororitas roaming around unsupervised." He walked forward, his tone shifting to something helpless but not particularly angry. "Forget it. Let her finish whatever business she's started before coming back. She needs practical training anyway, and seeing more real combat is beneficial for her development."
"Understood, my Lord. I will relay your response immediately."
David's metal head moved in acknowledgment. Blue light intensified in its optical sockets as it transmitted Nolan's orders across thousands of miles to Jessica's current location.
Dozens of seconds passed as they walked. Nolan and David emerged into the brightly lit central hall of the base, the overhead lights almost painful after the training ground's dimmer atmosphere.
Nolan settled into a seat beside the metal round table, reaching for a bucket of fresh water. He drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
David remained standing nearby, continuing its report. "Mr. Bucky and Mr. Old John have developed a positive relationship. They have traveled together several times recently, visiting various locations in the city. Both have become somewhat obsessed with chess, though their actual skills appear to be relatively poor. Occasionally, fierce arguments erupt over disputed moves or rules interpretations, but the conflicts remain within controllable parameters."
"David, don't bother reporting personal matters," Nolan said, slowly shaking his head. He raised his chin slightly, focusing his gaze on the Man of Iron. A smile played at his lips. "How is our Tech-Priest Raditus doing recently? Has it found any useful applications for the items we brought back from Asgard? To be honest, I haven't heard its noisy, complaining voice lately, and I actually miss it a little."
Hearing Nolan's question, David's metal head tilted slightly to one side. Something resembling confusion entered its mechanical voice.
"I believe Raditus has entered an extremely fanatical research state," David reported carefully. "The high-temperature furnace and production lines in the underground foundry workshop have not stopped running for a single moment. It appears to be studying some manner of powerful 'Frost Prison Weapon' derived from analyzing the Casket of Ancient Winters. However, current progress is extremely slow and marked by frequent failures."
David paused, its optical sensors dimming slightly as if expressing concern. "According to my observations, more than a dozen automatic servo robots have been subjected to Raditus's experiments and subsequently melted down for recasting after catastrophic malfunctions. The Tech-Priest's frustration levels appear to be escalating."
"Then let Raditus stay down there conducting research," Nolan said, raising his eyebrows with a widening grin. "I suddenly don't miss it quite so much after all."
His tone was light, almost amused, as he addressed David. Some mysteries were best left to obsessed Tech-Priests to solve in their own time.