Improvements to Primaris Space Marines?
Now that was interesting.
Adam was very much intrigued.
Shortly after the end of the Horus Heresy, Roboute Guilliman — serving as Imperial Regent — had sought out Belisarius Cawl and entrusted him with a task: to secretly research and produce an enhanced breed of Astartes, who would form the living backbone of the Empire's future military strength.
Compared to ordinary Space Marines, Primaris Space Marines could be implanted with three additional enhancement organs on top of the standard genetic modifications: the Sinew Coils, which amplified physical strength; the Magnificat, which optimized bodily functions and coordination; and the Furnace of Belisarius, which provided extended combat endurance and the ability to return from the brink of death.
For ten thousand years, Cawl had labored tirelessly — resorting to kidnapping and deception across the Imperium to collect suitable candidates — transforming them one by one into Primaris Space Marines.
By now, more than a hundred thousand slumbering warriors likely lay buried beneath the surface of Mars, with an unknown number of storage depots scattered throughout the galaxy.
To Adam, this was a force not to be underestimated.
Once the one fated in his plans — Robert Guilliman, "Lord of Ultramar" — awakened from his ten-thousand-year stasis, this army would become a formidable trump card against Chaos.
"But when you say physical improvements — do you mean you've had new ideas at the genetic level?"
Adam asked, his voice carrying genuine curiosity.
The Astartes were already an exceptionally refined creation of the Emperor. That Cawl had managed any improvement at all was no small feat — surely he couldn't have achieved yet another breakthrough in such a short span of time?
"Certainly not — aren't you giving me a little too much credit?" Cawl said with a rueful smile. "Even with my talents, even with the assistance of reality-warping, it's impossible to make any significant genetic improvement in such a short time."
"The physical improvement I'm referring to is the Furnace gland — thanks to a newly discovered Dark Age of Technology relic, the resurrection capabilities of our Primaris have been substantially enhanced. Beyond that, there's nothing else on the biological front."
"However, our team has made tremendous breakthroughs in the equipment and weapons used by the Primaris Astartes."
The Prometheus Laboratories of today were no longer the insular institution they once were. Embracing a philosophy of open exchange and collaborative development, large quantities of archeotech that had gathered dust in forgotten archives were being unearthed by former Mechanicus Magi.
Moreover, Sage Sutton and Commissar Arek had provided alien technologies that filled critical technical gaps.
What Cawl didn't mention aloud was that they had even used reality-warping to restore a number of STC (Standard Template Construct) fragments — directly solving the problem of mass production, and ruthlessly driving down what had once been prohibitively rare and expensive components.
"Very well," Adam nodded.
Faced with a galaxy so vast, even if he successfully advanced to a Tier 4 Reality Warper in the future, he could not simply blanket the entire galaxy with his influence or trigger galaxy-scale reality alterations on a whim.
That would probably have to wait until Tier 5 — but that was far, far away.
As for the Custodians, even if Adam could resurrect those who had given their souls to the Golden Throne, their total numbers simply weren't sufficient for what lay ahead.
Therefore, in Adam's plans, the Custodians would handle the governance and administration of Imperial worlds, while the Primaris Space Marines — considerable in number — would serve as the backbone forces filling the front lines and dealing with the Chaos threat.
"Then show me," Adam said, anticipation flickering in his eyes.
"As you wish."
Cawl gave a light clap of his hands.
Every researcher in the hall immediately stopped their work and converged to one side with practiced discipline.
On one wall of the hall — constructed from an unknown material — the internal structure quietly shifted. The material grew gradually transparent, until it resembled a massive one-way observation window, bringing the vast space next door into clear view before Adam.
It was a large, fully-equipped comprehensive training ground.
The simulated environment was evidently an urban ruin: a complex terrain of metal barricades staggered at varying heights, and the outlines of fortified firing positions already set in place, together creating a highly realistic and tactically demanding battlefield.
Bright but not harsh artificial lighting illuminated every corner with perfect clarity.
And in the center of the training ground, two rows of Primaris Space Marines stood facing each other.
"Make your introductions," Cawl's voice carried through some amplification device to all present. "To your opponents, and to everyone here."
A Primaris Astartes in armor adorned with purple trim, ornate golden aquila emblems, and scripture-covered sash bands — his bearing extraordinarily refined — stepped forward from his formation with unhurried grace.
In a motion as fluid as court ceremonial etiquette, he executed a precise and elegant Aquila salute toward the blue-armored warriors opposite him.
"Imperial Fists. Son of Dorn. Sol."
Sol introduced himself.
"My name is Decimus Androtinus Felix." A warrior in blue armor bearing a U-shaped shoulder insignia stepped out from the opposing line, returning the Aquila salute with equal formality. "Ultramarines. Son of Guilliman."
Even as he saluted, he was quietly mulling something over.
Felix had been taken from the Ultramar sector by Cawl at the end of the Great Crusade, when he was still very young — not yet eleven years old.
But something struck him as odd.
The Sons of Dorn, whom all records described as resolute, pragmatic, devoted to ironclad defense and ferocious assault — how could their bearing be so... refined?
Behind the observation window.
Adam couldn't help but turn to Cawl beside him, his tone distinctly odd: "'Son of Dorn'? Really?"
Given that elegant posture. That elaborate purple ornamentation—
Pull the other one.
If that's an Imperial Fist, I'll eat my helmet.
"It's fine," Cawl said with a slight smile, entirely unconcerned.
"Isn't it a bit... off, to stuff a Chapter with such a flamboyant style into the Sons of Dorn lineage?" Adam couldn't help but press.
After all, Fulgrim had bared his soul to Rogal Dorn during the Siege of Terra — they'd shared quite the bond.
"It's fine. Lord Rogal Dorn is wholly devoted to the greater good — if he could return, he would certainly understand." Cawl said matter-of-factly.
"Then why not put them in the Ultramarines?"
Adam pressed again.
After all, following the end of the Great Crusade, Guilliman had indeed absorbed large numbers of loyalists from the Traitor Legions into the Ultramarines successor framework, granting them the title of Primogenitor Chapters — the Silver Skulls and the Penitent Brotherhood being notable examples.
"Because — Lord Guilliman is actually coming back."
Cawl let out a quiet sigh.
"Fair enough. That's actually a surprisingly compelling argument."
Adam was left briefly speechless.
As expected of you, Cawl.