The heavy footsteps echoed through the corridors, each impact reverberating off the metal walls in a steady, rhythmic cadence that grew louder with approach, then gradually faded into the distance.
Nolan strode out of the foundry workshop, the blue power armor's servos humming softly with each movement. His mind turned over Raditus' proposals: a tactical nuclear weapon with a hundred-kiloton yield, or alternatively, a large-scale Phosphex Charges combining phosphorus compounds with promethium fuel.
Both options were viable. Both required time to manufacture.
That delay, at least, gave him space. Room to think. Room to choose.
His expression remained grave as he changed direction, making his way toward the lounge quarters. Several automatic servo robots approached from a side passage, their mechanical arms already extending in preparation to assist with armor removal. Nolan raised one hand in a curt gesture of dismissal. The robots immediately halted, reversed course, and returned to their standard patrol routes without protest.
He entered the lounge still fully encased in the power armor. Dust coated sections of the blue metal plating, mixed with darker stains that might have been oil or blood or both. The armor's weight settled more heavily with each step now that combat readiness had faded, replaced by the simple weariness of bearing its mass.
Nolan moved directly to the shower alcove. Without bothering to remove the armor, he activated the water. The spray hit the metal surface with a sharp hissing sound, steam rising immediately where hot water met heated ceramite. He stood there, methodically rinsing away the accumulated grime, watching the dirty water spiral down the drain in dark rivulets.
When he finished, he turned off the shower and walked to the metal bed. But instead of lying down, he lowered himself to the floor beside it, settling into a cross-legged position. His back rested against the bed frame. Water still dripped occasionally from the armor's joints, creating small puddles on the floor around him.
Nolan let his eyes drift closed.
It wasn't fatigue that drove him to stillness. His enhanced physiology had long since recovered from the day's exertions. What he needed now was silence. Clarity. A moment to truly confront what he was considering.
The idea of a regional extermination order. He had been the one to bring it up, to acknowledge it as a possibility. But voicing the concept and truly accepting its implications were entirely different matters.
This wasn't about eliminating a few criminals. This wasn't a surgical strike against combatants who had chosen their path.
This was a decision that would affect millions of lives. Hundreds of thousands of families. An entire district of humanity, most of whom had committed no crime beyond being born in the wrong location.
Countless lives balanced on the edge of a blade.
The pressure of it pressed down on him like a physical weight, crushing against his chest until each breath felt slightly harder to draw. The power to decide, with a single word, whether all those people lived or died. The responsibility threatened to suffocate him.
"The Emperor's blessing," he murmured, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. The words felt heavy on his tongue. "I finally understand the burden carried by the commanders of the Imperium. The weight they bear with every strategic decision."
His tongue unconsciously traced the edge of one fang, a nervous habit he'd developed since the transformation.
"Nolan," he said to himself, his voice still low but edged with something harder now. "What are you going to do?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
"Follow Raditus' recommendation? Deploy weapons of mass destruction and end this quickly, cleanly, with absolute certainty?" He paused, his jaw tightening. "Or do you search for another way? Find some method to save the innocent civilians caught in this nightmare?"
His hands clenched slowly into fists where they rested on his knees.
"Hundreds of thousands of people. They're not animals. They're not statistics. They're living human beings. Individuals with names, with families, with lives and hopes and fears."
His breathing deepened slightly, a counterpoint to the tension building in his frame.
"But this is war. There's no room for half-measures in war. No space for hesitation when the stakes are this high."
The pressure in his chest tightened further.
"Seventy-two hours from now, one of those weapons will be ready. Either the tactical nuclear device or the Phosphex Charges. Both are final. Both are absolute."
His eyes remained closed, but behind his eyelids, thoughts raced with crystalline intensity.
"Before that deadline arrives, I have to try. Even if the extermination order becomes inevitable in the end, even if all other options fail... I have to at least try."
Nolan's eyelids snapped open.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light, a luminous cyan glow that seemed to cut through the shadows. Wolf eyes, predatory and focused.
His voice came out as a low growl, determination resonating in every syllable.
"Save as many humans as possible."
The sound of hydraulic systems and heavy metal footsteps filled the loading bay.
Fifty-six combat servitors advanced in flawless machine-step, their movements synchronized with inhuman precision.
Thick slabs of composite armor encased their twisted forms, transforming them into walking weapons platforms with barely a trace of humanity left. Heavy bolters, multi-meltas, lascannons, and entire racks of spare ammunition hung from their reinforced frames. Any mortal soldier would have been crushed beneath such mass, but the servitors bore their wargear in utter silence, unfaltering and without the slightest hint of strain.
One by one, they climbed into the large cargo trucks, their movements methodical and efficient.
Following the combat servitors came five hundred automatic servo robots. Each one had been retrofitted with heavy guns, industrial-grade weapons repurposed for anti-personnel warfare. They carried massive ammunition boxes with ease, mechanical limbs handling loads that would require multiple humans to move. The robots arranged themselves in neat, orderly rows within the truck beds, optimizing space with mathematical precision.
When the loading process completed, the trucks' engines rumbled to life. Exhaust filled the underground garage with acrid fumes that the ventilation systems immediately began cycling out. The convoy rolled forward, emerging from the base's concealed passages and merging with the gang forces that had been holding position along the route.
Elsewhere in the base, in the main hall bathed in bright overhead lighting, three figures stood in conference.
Nolan wore his power armor still, the blue metal now clean but bearing the faint marks of recent combat. His posture remained rigid, shoulders set. Beside him, David's metallic frame reflected the harsh lights, the Man of Iron's optical sensors glowing with their characteristic blue luminescence. And across from them both stood Blade, his black leather trench coat hanging loose around his frame, arms crossed over his chest. Sunglasses concealed his eyes despite the indoor setting.
Nolan's head turned slightly toward Blade, his expression stern. "Are you certain that the Blood Coven's believers have been infected with vampiric traits?"
Blade remained motionless for a moment before responding, his voice carrying the flat certainty of long experience. "They're showing classic tells. Light sensitivity. Silver makes them twitch. And anything with allicin? They recoil on instinct. Doesn't even hurt them physically, but their bodies act like it does." He paused, then continued. "These aren't learned habits. They're hardwired responses. That's real vampire behavior."
One hand gestured slightly, a subtle movement that emphasized his point. "According to my investigation, the initiation ritual for the Blood Coven requires blood sacrifice and the replacement ceremony. They call it receiving the 'holy blood.' These fanatics clearly regard atavistic vampire blood as a supreme treasure, something sacred to be consumed and incorporated."
Nolan absorbed this information in silence, his jaw working slightly. Then he turned his attention to David.
"Notify Imperial Heavy Industries' operations department. Have them acquire a quantity of silver and high-output ultraviolet lamps. Distribute them to the gang dogs for identification purposes." His voice carried the weight of command, each word deliberate. "Additionally, inform Bucky that once the two teams have merged, they will begin operations approaching the slum district. From that moment, they have exactly seventy-two hours."
He paused, letting the timeline sink in before continuing.
"During that window, they are to evacuate as many uninfected civilians as possible while operating under pressure from the Blood Coven's resistance. How many they save depends entirely on their capability and efficiency."
His eyes narrowed slightly, and his tone became even more grave. "But when the seventy-two hours expire, they must withdraw. All forces, no exceptions. Even if they believe they could save more people with additional time, they must leave. No delays. No negotiations."
David's metal head inclined in acknowledgment, the motion accompanied by a soft mechanical whir. "Understood, my lord."
Blue light pulsed in the Man of Iron's optical sensors as it immediately began transmitting Nolan's orders through the network to the distant teams.
Silence descended over the hall like a heavy blanket.
Nolan sat at the metal round table, his armored form perfectly still. The only movement came from the occasional servo adjustment in the power armor, barely audible mechanical whispers.
Blade remained standing, his posture unchanged, arms still crossed. The sunglasses made it impossible to read his expression, but the set of his jaw suggested deep thought.
Neither spoke.
David periodically broke the quiet with brief status updates: team positions, estimated arrival times, logistical confirmations. Each report was delivered in the same neutral tone, stating facts without commentary.
Nolan hadn't shared the full scope of his plans with Blade. The tactical details, yes. The weapons being prepared, the timeline, the evacuation effort. But not everything. Not the final contingency.
Yet Blade seemed to understand anyway. The seventy-two-hour deadline told its own story to anyone experienced enough to read between the lines.
Surprisingly, no objection came from the Blade. No questions about what would happen when the clock ran out. No moral challenges or demands for clarification.
He simply stood there in silence, his body language suggesting... acceptance. Or perhaps simply recognition that some decisions, however terrible, fell outside his authority to challenge.
Nolan finally broke the stillness, turning his head to regard Blade directly. "How many years have you spent hunting?"
Blade's posture shifted slightly, a barely perceptible relaxation in his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice carried a reflective quality, as if the question had pulled him into memory.
"How many years?" He seemed to consider it genuinely. "Honestly, I've lost count. It started when I was a teenager, I think. After that..." He trailed off briefly before continuing. "So many years of hunting. So many battles. I'll admit, there are some among them demonstrate a moral code. Ancient ones, mostly, who've developed ethics over centuries. They exist. They're real."
His jaw tightened slightly. "But they're exceptions. The vast majority are nothing but predators. Monsters wearing human faces. They need to be eradicated, completely and without mercy."
Blade's head tilted slightly toward Nolan, though the sunglasses still prevented direct eye contact. "The only lesson I've learned that truly matters is this: when facing monsters, never hesitate. Not even if your actions might cause collateral damage. Not even if the battle results in greater casualties than you anticipated. Hesitation kills more people than decisive action ever will."
The words hung in the air, their weight unmistakable.
Nolan's head tilted back slightly, his neck stretching as he processed Blade's statement. His eyebrows rose fractionally.
"Never hesitate," he repeated quietly, more to himself than to Blade.
He understood the subtext. The permission buried in those words. The acknowledgment from someone who had walked similar paths, made similar choices.
"My lord," David's voice cut through the moment, the Man of Iron's metal head rising slightly as it focused on Nolan. "There's another person approaching from one of the external base passages. Someone you know."
Nolan's brow furrowed immediately, confusion and annoyance crossing his features in rapid succession. His eyes narrowed.
"Who?" His tone carried a sharp edge. "Please don't tell me it's another sorcerer from Kamar-Taj."
"No, my lord." David's optical sensors brightened slightly, the blue light pulsing. "It's Tony Stark."