Warworld.
Healing chamber.
Vulkan was strapped to a white table, motionless. Metallic restraints bound his head, wrists, and ankles, holding him firmly against the cold surface. The artificial ceiling light cast a sterile glow over his battered body. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingled with the subtler scent of dried blood still staining his obsidian skin.
The chamber door opened with a pneumatic hiss. A small creature identical to Mongul's servant flew in, its membranous wings beating softly. Its brown lizard skin glistened under the white light. Its bulbous eyes scanned a data tablet clutched between its clawed fingers.
"The subject presents multiple severe injuries."
The creature spoke aloud, likely recording its report. Its fingers tapped the tablet, and a hologram of Vulkan's body appeared in the air, marked with red zones indicating the damage.
"Jaw fracture extending to the temple. Six broken ribs, three with displacement. Multiple internal hemorrhages in the liver, spleen, and kidneys. Plasmoelectric burns across the entire peripheral nervous system. Multiple contusions. Extensive muscle tears."
The creature paused, its bulbous eyes widening slightly.
"But his body is already remedying it. At a spectacular rate."
On the hologram, the red zones were shrinking visibly. Fractures were knitting back together. Hemorrhages were subsiding. Burned tissues were regenerating. Primarch biology was doing its work, rebuilding Vulkan's body at a speed that defied all medical logic.
The door opened again. Another creature entered, imposing despite standing only one meter ninety. It had four muscular arms, skin of a deep blue traced with paler veins, and wore a military uniform adorned with rank insignia. A Warworld officer. Likely a supervisor.
"When can the prisoner be returned to his cell?"
His voice was brusque, authoritative. The small winged being turned to him with deference.
"He is healing on his own. We need only plunge him into deep sleep and wait for him to recover fully."
The blue officer grunted, visibly displeased at being unable to accelerate the process.
"Make it quick. Mongul wants him back for the next combat cycle."
He turned on his heel and left the room without another word.
The small winged creature let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door closed. It approached the table where Vulkan lay and pressed a button on its tablet.
A thick glass lid slid over the table, sealing the Primarch inside an airtight capsule. A yellow gas was released within, swirling in thick coils around his face.
Vulkan felt the gas take effect immediately. His mind was growing numb. His thoughts were slowing. An artificial torpor was trying to drag him into unconsciousness.
But he refused to give in.
I have to stay awake. I have to resist. Focus. Focus.
His Primarch brain engaged in a silent battle against the sedative. He learned to function on two levels simultaneously. One part of his mind had to give the appearance of sleep—slow his heart rate, relax his muscles, mimic the breathing of a sleeper. The other part had to remain lucid, alert, ready to act.
It was like swimming in two opposing currents at once. Like being asleep and awake in the same instant. The difficulty was immense, but the will of a Primarch was equal to it.
The winged creature checked the vitals displayed on its tablet one last time. Vulkan's heart rate was slow. His breathing was steady. His brain activity matched that of deep sleep.
"Perfect. Sleep well, big one. You'll need it."
Then it put away its tablet, spread its membranous wings, and fluttered out of the chamber.
The door closed with a hiss. Silence fell again.
Vulkan remained motionless for a long minute. He listened. He analyzed. No footsteps. No suspicious machine hum. No sign of active surveillance.
Then he opened his eyes.
His red pupils blazed in the dimness of the capsule. He was alone. Truly alone.
He focused his will and called upon the Universal Inventory. A discreet glow appeared above his restrained hand. Something metallic materialized between his fingers.
The Sonic Screwdriver.
The tool was elegant, slender, gleaming with a bluish light. It fit perfectly in his palm. A barely audible hum escaped it as Vulkan activated it with a simple press of his thumb.
He pointed it at the restraints binding his right wrist. The Sonic Screwdriver emitted a series of luminous pulses, analyzing the mechanism's structure. A few seconds later, a click was heard, and the restraint opened.
Vulkan freed his right hand. Then he repeated the process on his left wrist restraint, on his ankles, and finally on the band holding his head. One by one, the restraints fell away.
He was free.
He pushed back the glass lid of the capsule and sat on the edge of the table. His body was still sore, but the most severe wounds were already healed. Primarch biology had worked miracles.
Vulkan twirled the Sonic Screwdriver between his fingers, a fierce smile on his lips.
"Time to get to work."
He slid off the table, his bare feet touching the cold floor of the healing chamber. He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and looked around. The room was filled with medical equipment, monitors, diagnostic machines. All of it could be useful.
But his priority lay elsewhere.
He activated the Sonic Screwdriver and pointed it at his own neck. The tool analyzed the control collar that had shackled him since his arrival on Warworld. Luminous runes appeared on the Screwdriver's small integrated screen. Lines of alien code scrolled at full speed.
The collar emitted a beep. Then another. Then a click.
Not yet. The mechanism was complex, protected by multiple layers of security. It would take more time to unlock it completely.
But Vulkan had time. And he had the tool.
He pointed the Sonic Screwdriver at the chamber door. A hum. A click. The door opened.
The Primarch stepped into the deserted corridor, the Sonic Screwdriver gleaming in his hand.
Vengeance was approaching.