As a Grey Knight In Naruto

Chapter 31 – Flesh of Will, Flame of Thought

The underground chamber was silent and vast, shaped by both chakra and psychic will. Stone walls pressed inward with clean, smooth perfection, untouched by nature, bacteria, or decay. Hajime stood barefoot on the polished earthen floor, his breath calm, eyes closed. A faint glow radiated from within him, blue and white, pulsing softly like starlight buried beneath skin.

The second heart in his chest beat in tandem with the first, synchronized after its successful integration. The rhythmic double-thump sent oxygen-rich blood coursing through his body. With each beat, his clarity sharpened, muscles relaxed, and thoughts became precise. Already, he felt the change: enhanced stamina, accelerated chakra recovery, and a mind that moved like a finely tuned engine. The gene-seed had stirred after the implantation, optimizing the heart in real-time, ensuring it beat as if it had always belonged to him.

He inhaled, not just with lungs, but with spirit, and raised one hand, not in gesture, but in intent. There were no hand signs, no whispered incantations. Only will.

A shimmer spread from beneath his feet, radiating outward in a soft ripple. Psychic power surged from his core, spreading like an invisible dome that pressed gently against the stone walls. A Sanctuary had formed, a barrier that repelled any malevolent force, shielding him from daemons, corruption, or psychic interference. The air within the dome grew still. Even sound felt hushed, reverent. This wasn't chakra. It wasn't ninjutsu. It was the Warp, pure, untainted, responsive only to him.

His eyes opened. The barrier held steady, pulsing faintly with thought-born power. And this was only the beginning.

Hajime turned toward a section of the chamber wall. He let the next memory guide him, another fragment from the Grey Knight Librarian's legacy. Power threaded into his arms, reinforcing muscle, bone, and flesh. Hammerhand. His limbs grew heavier, denser with force, but not burdened. It was as if the world around him accepted he should strike harder. He stepped forward and brought his palm against the stone.

The wall exploded into dust.

Stone shattered like fragile glass, the shockwave reverberating through the chamber. Hajime barely moved, unfazed. His skin showed no sign of stress. Chakra had always required careful control to enhance strength, but this was different. This wasn't forcing power through flesh. This was bending the world to his will.

He turned, reached out to a scattered pile of debris, and focused his thoughts. The stones lifted from the ground, not by chakra threads, but by thought alone. Telekinesis. They hovered in the air, perfectly still. Then he added more, scrolls, his satchel, a vial of ink. Each item began to orbit him in smooth, controlled circles. He lifted his feet, and his own body rose off the ground.

There was no wind. No resistance. He simply floated, untethered to gravity, as if it had forgotten him.

He smiled. This was the power of the Warp in this world. No resistance. No rival. No danger. Just endless depth.

His thoughts folded inward again, drawing on the mental discipline buried in the Librarian's training. A fortress assembled in his mind, built of pure will and shaped by geometric clarity. A mental citadel. No illusions could pierce it. No genjutsu could twist it. Even memories from his old world, when conjured for testing, shattered like glass against its bastions. His thoughts were now his own, invincible and sealed.

Then came the storm.

He raised his hand, and a searing bolt of Warp energy burst from his palm. Smite. It struck the far side of the chamber with a roar, vaporizing a massive chunk of the wall. Dust and heat filled the air. His hand did not waver.

He tried again, focusing now on raw combustion. From nothing, flame sparked into being in his palm. It was not chakra fire. It did not burn the same way. It flickered strangely, casting no warmth against his skin. It simply consumed, ignoring air or fuel. He swept it across the floor. Where it passed, the stone blackened and hummed with strange vibrations.

Lightning followed. He called upon warp-energy shaped as jagged bolts, crackling across the air like living arcs. The strikes clawed at the walls, leaving them glowing faintly, as if scarred by divine wrath. There was no thunder. Just a low, vibrating pulse in the earth, as though reality itself had flinched.

He moved on to Telepathy.

It was effortless. He didn't hear thoughts, he felt them. Aboveground, he could sense dreams, stray fears, the flickering impressions of lives being lived. He brushed against one briefly, an old man dreaming of his wife's cooking, and withdrew. It was too intimate. Too fragile.

And through all of it, the Warp answered him.

Not slowly. Not with resistance. It flowed into him like a river without a dam. He could draw more. And more. And more. It didn't stop.

That realization stunned him.

In the universe of the Grey Knights, psykers had to ration their power, or risk burning alive. They were beacons to daemons, always hunted, always at war. But here?

There were no daemons.

No Chaos Gods.

No screaming madness or sentient storms.

The Warp here was young. Quiet. Clean. A realm of emotion and potential untouched by horror. And Hajime was alone in it.

He was the only psyker in this universe.

The only one.

Which meant…

He could draw infinitely.

There was no limit. No counterforce.

His power was only limited by his control.

And control, he had trained for.

He spent the entire day and night in that chamber. Practicing. Testing. Mastering each technique until it responded like instinct. There were no scrolls, no manuals, only memory and will. Warp energy bent reality at his whim. Thought became action. Flame, lightning, pressure, and silence, all bent to his presence.

By the end of it, the chamber had been transformed. The walls bore scorch marks that pulsed faintly. The ceiling had been melted, reshaped, cracked, and sealed over. The very air shimmered with residual psychic pressure, like heat rising off stone.

But Hajime, standing at the center, was calm.

He raised one hand, and with the gentlest thought, the chamber cleaned itself. Stone flowed back into place. Ash and debris disappeared into sealed jars. The air cleared. Light dimmed.

And then he turned, walking through the tunnel he had carved days ago.

When he emerged, the stars were retreating before the light of dawn. Birds stirred in the trees. The scent of dew clung to the leaves. The world was waking.

He walked calmly back toward Tanzaku Quarters, his body cloaked in the stillness of mastery.

He had been gone for one day and one night.

But beneath the earth, in silence and fire, a godless psyker had awakened.

And one day, when the world tried to bury him again, it would learn that thought alone could burn cities.

And dreams could crack mountains.