83: Chapter 83 Gene Seeds and Heretical Commands

As the stasis pod shattered, Lin Yuan rolled to the side. His right hand's Silver-wire Network vibrated in sync with THRONE-01, while a pale red warning flashed across his retina. High-pressure nitrogen mixed with pale blue coolant surged out, condensing into a thick mist in the sub-zero air and swallowing a third of the laboratory. Within the fog, the shrill screech of tearing metal echoed. A two-point-four-meter-tall shadow slowly sat up, snapping its alloy restraints like rotten wood as they clattered to the floor.

[Warning: Unregistered Seventh Legion prototype detected. Mutation index 47%. Sanity threshold breached.]

[Recommendation: Execute purification immediately to unlock the standard tech tree. Reward: Standard Astartes Maintenance Protocols, Complete gene-seed Vault.]

[Countdown Correction: 2 hours → 31 minutes.]

The mist swirled under the inefficient operation of the ventilation system. The prototype's true form was revealed: muscles knotted beneath its skin, covered in a web-like network of black cracks that oozed pale gold ichor. The gene-seed and mutant cells were in violent conflict. The left side of its skull was completely dominated by a black sclera, its pupil an irregular vertical slit emitting a predator's spectral glow. Its right eye, however, miraculously retained a sliver of human blue iris, scanning the wasteland era blankly with a gaze that mixed a warrior's alertness with a prisoner's confusion. On its chest plate fragments, the faded heraldry of the Seventh Legion's Imperial Fists was faintly discernible, gnawed by time until only half the outline of a fist remained.

"Lin Yuan." Camilla sat in her wheelchair, her melta pistol aimed steadily at the monster's chest. Her voice was calm, as if discussing the weather rather than facing a biological weapon capable of tearing everyone apart. "The neural interface has detected three-way seismic waves; the frequency matches melta explosives. Rustnail is breaking through the load-bearing wall of Sector B. Life or death will be decided in thirty seconds."

Lin Yuan noticed the prototype's right hand twitching. Its fingers tightened like hydraulic clamps, gouging five furrows an inch deep into the alloy floor as sparks flew in the darkness. Its power assessment had reached seventy percent of a standard Astartes, but the neural reflex mapping showed a chaotic motor cortex, lacking precise control—as if a beast were driving a chariot.

[System Prompt: Purification program ready. Duration: 3 seconds. Zero risk.]

[Consequence of Rejection: Unlock 'Heretical Research' branch. machine spirit corruption risk +15%. STC trust level decreased.]

"Reject." Lin Yuan resolutely swiped away the crimson option in his mind, his fingertips tracing a blood-colored afterimage in the void.

The prototype lunged. Its speed was so fast it left a black afterimage on the retina, its black left eye instantly locking onto Lin Chen. A gene-level appetite for and rejection of its "own kind" erupted simultaneously. The THRONE-01 exoskeleton moved laterally to intercept, dark red armor colliding with mutated talons. The sound of tearing metal was sharp enough to nearly pierce eardrums. Lin Chen was pushed back three steps by the massive force, the biological rust on his left arm instantly spreading to the elbow joint under the impact, while milky white coolant sprayed from the exoskeleton's gaps. The coolant mixed with the pale gold ichor from DORN-00 in the air, emitting a pungent smell of ozone and rust.

The moment the talons were about to tear open THRONE-01's chest plate, the prototype froze. Its nose twitched violently, sniffing the ten-thousand-year-old pheromones in the air, and it slowly turned its head to look at THRONE-01's chest. The machine spirit core emitted a low resonance, like long-lost brothers recognizing each other in the ruins.

"Brother...?" The voice sounded like air being squeezed through rusted pipes, carrying a non-human rasp, yet it strangely followed ancient Legion etiquette. "Blood... of Dorn...?"

Lin Yuan's right hand stung, the Silver-wire Network vibrating violently. He felt the surging fluctuations deep within THRONE-01's machine spirit. The Imperial Fists gene-seeds were identifying one another; the Astartes brotherhood instinct took priority over any killing program, etched into the depths of their genes like an iron law. DORN-00 trembled, thick golden tears flowing from its blue right eye, carving furrows down its cracked cheeks. It slowly knelt, its heavy knees shattering the floor tiles, its head bowing to the ground in the oldest Seventh Legion gesture of submission: "Son... of Dorn... awaiting... orders... awaiting... Father..."

[Anomaly Warning: Unauthorized neural link establishing spontaneously.]

[Warning: Cross-temporal genetic resonance detected. Accelerating biological rust process.]

"Pain," Lin Chen's voice carried a metallic friction-like tremble, shared with Lin Yuan through the neural link. "It's sharing cryogenic hallucinations. The Great Crusade... fragments of Terra... remembers the Wall falling... remembers the Throne going dark..."

Lin Yuan looked at the kneeling prototype. Through the fragile link, he saw the emotional residues deep in DORN-00's memory: the blindingly painful light of the Golden Throne, the long weightlessness of falling from orbit, the bone-chilling cold of the stasis pod, and the despair and loyalty of being abandoned in the wasteland for ten thousand years. This wasn't a pure mutant as defined by the system; it still retained fragments of human consciousness—a Seventh Legion warrior trapped in a monster's shell.

"Establish a suppression link." Lin Yuan pulled out a tactical dagger and, without hesitation, sliced a deep, bone-exposing wound across his left brachial artery. Blood surged like a fountain, dripping into the STC interface. "The Astartes maintenance protocol requires the blood of a Gene-farm Primarch as a coding medium. Either we establish control now, or in thirty minutes, it will tear us all apart in a frenzy."

As the blood seeped into the ancient interface, the slumbering machinery deep within the lab emitted a dull roar. A pale gold light curtain rose from the floor, enveloping the prototype and Lin Chen like an inverted waterfall. Within the light curtain, countless fine neural cables emerged, burrowing into the gaps of both armors like living things.

[Heretical Tech Tree unlocked.]

[gene-seed reverse engineering available (machine spirit corruption risk +15%, current cumulative: 76%).]

[THRONE-01 mechanical integrity dropped to 61%. Left arm neural synchronization dropped to 43%.]

Lin Chen let out a muffled groan and dropped to one knee. The suppression link was officially established, and the two-way pain sharing was fully activated. The burning agony of the mutated genes within DORN-00, the stinging numbness of ten thousand years of neural damage, and the tearing sensation of gene-seed rejection were all transmitted to THRONE-01's machine spirit through the Silver-wire Network. Black cracks similar to those on DORN-00 appeared on the surface of the exoskeleton, with a mixture of pale gold radiance and coolant seeping from the gaps. Lin Chen's breathing became ragged; every breath felt like inhaling liquid metal.

"Link... stable," Lin Chen gritted out, his voice distorted and deformed as the exoskeleton joints emitted a dry grinding sound from the overload. "I can suppress its berserk instincts, but it's like holding down the lid of a boiling pot with my bare hands. The genetic defects are continuously worsening; the rust will deepen after every battle. It needs regular maintenance, otherwise..."

"Otherwise, we'll go mad together." Lin Yuan quickly bandaged his wound. Blood loss made his face pale, but his eyes remained sharp. He looked at the prototype, which was slowly raising its head. DORN-00's blue right eye had cleared slightly; although the black left eye was still clouded, the pure killing intent was temporarily suppressed. Its gaze held an ancient obedience and exhaustion that spanned ten millennia.

"DORN-00," Lin Yuan officially named it, his voice echoing in the laboratory. "Welcome to this long-overdue war."

As if in response to its naming, the laboratory walls shook violently. Dust fell from the ceiling like grey snow. Camilla's neural interface flashed frantically as she pulled up surveillance footage: Rustnail was using melta explosives to blast through the final maintenance shaft of Sector B-17. At the front of the squad was Rustnail himself, his mechanical prosthetic eye flashing with an unnatural red light. Through the blurred surveillance quality, one could clearly see the heavy armor worn by the Scavengers, which was emblazoned with the gear and skull emblem of the Adeptus Mechanicus. That was the source of STC technology and one of the deepest secrets of this wasteland world.

[Countdown: 29 minutes.]

[Warning: Unauthorized STC technology signal detected. Source: Rustnail unit weapons systems.]

"They broke through the outer traps ahead of schedule." Camilla's wheelchair glided toward the console, her fingers flying across the virtual keyboard as her neural interface plugged directly into the lab's remaining sensors. "Lin Yuan, listen up. You have two Astartes units now, but THRONE-01's machine spirit is damaged, its combat effectiveness reduced by forty percent; DORN-00's genes are unstable and could go berserk again at any time. My lower limbs are paralyzed but my neural interface is intact; I can coordinate the fire networks of both units simultaneously. If you don't want them interfering with each other in close quarters or hitting each other in crossfire, I need full battlefield command."

Lin Yuan looked at his brother. Lin Chen raised his head, revealing a tired but determined gaze beneath the exoskeleton's faceplate, and his joints emitted a dry grinding sound in agreement.

"Approved." Lin Yuan's voice brooked no argument. "You are the tactical core; coordinate DORN-00 and THRONE-01. I'll handle Rustnail's STC weapons."

Camilla's pupils contracted as her neural interface ran at full capacity, pale blue data streams pouring down like a waterfall before her eyes. She quickly mapped out a fire network on the tactical display: "DORN-00, port corridor. Use the Seventh Legion defensive formations from your memory to establish cover. Do you remember the Imperial Fists' 'Anvil' line?"

The prototype stood up and grabbed two thick alloy plates. Its movements were clumsy yet heavy, carrying the instinct of ancient military training as it walked toward the designated position. As it turned, a trace of confusion flashed in its black left eye, and it murmured: "Terra... the Wall... why did it fall..."

THRONE-01 stood at Lin Yuan's side. The rust cracks on its left arm had already spread to the shoulder, oozing a mixture of coolant and pale gold ichor that hissed corrosively as it dripped onto the floor. Through the suppression link, Lin Chen was enduring the agony of the genetic torrent for DORN-00. The outer armor trembled constantly, each tremor corresponding to a pulse of the mutations within DORN-00.

"Brother," Lin Chen said softly, his voice reaching only Lin Yuan through a private channel, carrying a metallic-tinged weakness. "There are data fragments deep in the link. DORN-00's original memories show that a complete STC database exists at the bottom of the lab, and it needs its genetic key to open. H-New-115 isn't just a coordinate; it's the entrance... a contingency left behind by the Seventh Legion."

Lin Yuan looked toward the dust-covered blast door deep within the lab. The indentation in the center of the door perfectly matched the shape of the exposed gene-seed interface on DORN-00's chest.

Another explosion tore through the air. The main gate was hit directly by a melta charge; the door panel buckled violently inward, and red-hot molten iron dripped from the cracks, etching smoking holes into the floor. The three-way confrontation took shape amidst the dust and firelight.

Lin Yuan stood in the center, his right hand's Silver-wire Network resonating with the two Astartes units, his left hand resting on the STC template at his waist, feeling the coldness of technology and the heat of life. Camilla was on the flank, her wheelchair's mechanical arms deploying a portable forcefield generator, her gaze scanning the tactical interface like a hawk. DORN-00 was on the left, holding the alloy plates like shields, its black left eye fixed on the buckling gate while its blue right eye occasionally flashed with visions of the ruins of Terra, whispering "Great Crusade... failed...". THRONE-01 was on the right, its machine spirit painfully linked to the flawed prototype, its dark red exoskeleton like a blood-stained battle standard, the rust on its left arm shining like a medal under the lights.

The melta marks on the gate pierced through the final layer of armor, the metal letting out a groan of being overwhelmed.

Lin Yuan took a deep breath and raised his right hand. The glow of the Silver-wire Network illuminated the darkness of the lab, illuminated the faded Imperial Fists heraldry on DORN-00, illuminated the rust on the THRONE-01 exoskeleton, and illuminated the tactical calculations burning in Camilla's eyes.

"Prepare to engage."

The gate collapsed with a piercing screech of tearing metal.