To be reborn and end up in a child of a highly militarized family. What could be more wonderful? Instead of a rattle, a grenade, and a pacifier replaced by a bullet. Of course, I'm exaggerating. But it wouldn't be an overstatement to say that from a very young age, I was being prepared as a warrior. Being the youngest child, I wasn't surprised by this. All the important places in the family hierarchy were already taken, so it would be foolish to expect anything else. It reminded me of the fate of the younger sons of feudal lords, destined for a landless knight's career upon coming of age.
But at one of the family gatherings, it was announced that the Emperor was looking for healthy and strong children from whom he intended to create his Angels of Death, the Space Marines. The family began to argue whether it was worth taking this chance to prove their loyalty to the Emperor. By a narrow margin, those in favor of paying this blood tribute to improve the family's status in the new state won.
That same evening, my father came to me and told me that the lot had fallen on me. His face didn't show a single muscle twitch as he practically told his son that he was being sacrificed for the future of the family. To say that I liked this blatant consumer attitude toward a child would be a lie. But after years of living in this new world, I understood that this was an era of fire and sword, not even the crappy version of humanism like in my past life.
So, within a week, men with the symbol of lightning arrived for me. After conducting an examination, they said that I was fit and had a good chance of becoming a Space Marine. My parents and other family members said it was an honor for them, and after a brief farewell, I was taken towards the Himalayan Mountains.
In the Himalayas was the Emperor's main laboratory, where we were to be made into Space Marines. Upon arrival, I was immediately taken to the local bio-engineers and doctors for a check-up. Judging by their satisfied clicks and nods, they were pleased with my results. As one of them later admitted to me, it was rare to find such a clean and healthy genome among the inhabitants of Terra.
After my health check, they began assessing my mental state. The tests resembled veiled interrogations; they asked about everything: family, childhood, desires, plans, and ambitions. I had to present myself as a prematurely matured child, feeling some resentment for being practically sold like cattle. Judging by the slight smirks on their faces, my answers didn't surprise them.
After all the tests and receiving good results, I was placed in a group of candidates mostly composed of children from noble European families. At first, I thought they intended to create some kind of ceremonial regiment from us, one that would look good and serve propaganda purposes. The faces of many were just too noble.
With my noble lineage, I should have fit right in. But there was one problem that made many of these children want to get rid of me. I was from Ursh, a region that for years, if not centuries, had been raiding the lands of these children's families. Yes, the Emperor had managed to unite many of Terra's nations, some by force, others by diplomacy. But old grudges hadn't disappeared. So, the fun began—for me, but not for the others. From the very first days, they tried to pull some kind of trick or prank on me. I endured it since they were just kids. But when fists came into play to put the Ursh scum, meaning me, in its place, my patience quickly ran out. It was time for a lesson in discipline. On one side, there were more of them, and they had some training. But on the other, I had far more experience and knowledge of how to hurt people.
I broke their arms, legs, and used whatever came to hand. They tried to swarm me, but I always fought in places where their numbers were neutralized, and I was always on alert. But they were stubborn, and each of them had an ocean of pride, so our confrontation only intensified. It ended when I was transferred to another group after one candidate died from my beatings, and several others were injured so badly they had to be removed from the lists. Plus, the group began to suffer from mental issues. Living with someone who could easily break your bones and wasn't afraid to do so created an atmosphere of fear.
At the time, I didn't understand why they hadn't transferred me earlier, as I'd been beating these brats for nearly a month. The answer turned out to be simple: our supervisors were conducting a form of selection. Thanks to me, the weak and cowardly, who would never become Space Marines, were identified right away. But when there were losses in the group, and the atmosphere became too dangerous, they decided to remove me—the downsides started to outweigh the benefits.
The new group mostly consisted of people from the Thule Basin, a frozen wasteland. These guys were remarkably resilient and had good adaptive skills. I wasn't exactly welcomed here either, but unlike the spoiled brats from noble families, it only took a couple of fights and a few broken arms for them to realize that provoking and angering me wasn't the wisest choice.
With the Thule guys, I had a neutral relationship, but nothing more. We were just too different. But with others, things were much easier. They decided to group around me, and luckily, there were a few from Ursh in the group, so we managed to form our own faction—a faction within a faction.
Once the selection was completed, training began, preparing us to become Space Marines. The training and studies were conducted at a forced pace. From dawn to dusk, we were always busy, to the point where we didn't even have the energy to reach our beds. And all the while, there was a constant, almost unnoticed stream of propaganda and indoctrination of loyalty to the Emperor and the Imperium. It reminded me of my early years at a military university.
When I turned 11, I underwent my first implantation. My physical stats were so good that they decided to install the Secondary Heart, Ossmodula, and Biscopea all in one operation instead of three or two. Despite some issues, such as me experiencing clinical death, the surgery was successful, and all the implants were accepted and began functioning.
I was lucky, you could say. Some of the others from my group weren't so fortunate. Some didn't survive the surgery, while others' implants failed to integrate, and after a short period of agony, they were removed from the program.
After successful implantation, the number of medical checkups increased. The doctors needed to monitor the performance of the implants and make adjustments. Changes were also made to our diets, and injections with various chemicals became our constant companions.
In a very short time, all the surviving candidates began to grow rapidly and gain muscle mass. Already being the tallest and strongest in the group, I became even taller and stronger. But our training also became more intense, so even with increased strength and endurance, we still had to suffer.
In the classrooms, we were taught to handle weapons, perform basic maintenance, and receive basic tactical training. I had no problems with any of this, so I quickly earned the supervisors' approval for more advanced studies. Especially during firearms practice, I developed an interest and even a talent for working with heavy bolters. This was noticed by the supervisors, who already saw me as a sergeant of the heavy support squad. Interestingly, in the future, all the surviving non-Thule candidates were assigned to the heavy support squad as well.
The following years were almost identical—new implants, new capabilities, and new challenges. The selection process continued, and even when they implanted us with progenoids, which was the second-to-last implant, several candidates died.
There were also unusual, even dangerous moments along my path to becoming a Space Marine. After the installation of the Catalepsean Node, we had to undergo hypnotherapy. But I unexpectedly displayed a high level of mental resistance, which led to them torturing me until my mind entered a twilight state of fatigue and pain, allowing hypnotherapy to proceed, albeit with varying success. This had to be done repeatedly because the Catalepsean Node wasn't the only implant requiring hypnotherapy for activation.
But I made it through and became the Emperor's Angel of Death. The words of the oath were spoken, and we became the first Space Marines of the 5th Legion.
Many years later, we received our true name and moniker: the White Scars.
For the Khan and the Emperor!