《Warhammer: Echoes of Divinity》 Chapter 1: Prisoner No. 444 Deep within the festering depths of Tyrone Hive, in the suffocating gloom of the Underhive, war raged. The lowest, most wretched levels of the vast hive city had long been a lawless expanse of filth and anarchy, where life was measured in bullets and brutality. But now, amidst the decay and the echoing howls of violence, an organized battlefront had emerged. At the only passageway connecting the Underhive to the lower Hive, a heavily fortified position had been established. The Planetary Defense Force (PDF) held the line here, manned by the weary soldiers of the 44th Infantry Regiment, commanded by Captain Burr. Filth-licking dregs! he bellowed, While true soldiers bleed in the Emperors name against that Evolutionist rot, you grovel like hive-scum! Move! "Get moving! Build the supply points, reinforce the defenses, or Ill make sure you feel the lash!" "Faster, faster! We dont have time to waste!" Burrs furious roars echoed across the entrenchments, his voice cutting through the ceaseless clang of industry and war. Infantry soldiers crouched in trenches carved from the very bones of the hiveancient, rusted metal laced with the grime of centuries. Some shoveled rations into their mouths, others lay sprawled against crude barricades, grabbing what rest they could before the next inevitable call to battle. But Burr wasnt shouting at his soldiers. He was shouting at the prisoners. It wasnt combat engineers reinforcing the defensesit was a ragged, exhausted chain-gang of convicts, toiling under the unyielding gaze of PDF enforcers. Their hands were blistered and raw, their bodies weighed down with the burden of backbreaking labor. They hauled crates, poured ferrocrete, laid down barricadesgrunt work no soldier wanted to waste their strength on. Among them was Qin Mo. His shirt had long since been reduced to tattered rags, exposing a body marked with strange, metallic-looking black etchings. Not tattoos. Not scars. Something else. Something unnatural. Around his neck hung a psyker suppression collar, its surface engraved with a simple but ominous designation: Prisoner No. 444. Unlike the others, his collar wasnt merely a shackleit was a cage for the mind, a leash for an untrained psyker. .... A hunched figure approached Burr, bowing his head in respect. The motion was deliberate, accompanied by the rigid form of the Aquila salutean act of deference to the Imperium, though it carried the air of a ritual long stripped of sincerity. My lord captain The voice was a dry whisper, like parchment dragged across stone. Burr turned, eyes narrowing. "Kalon." The sanctioned psykers presence was a necessary blasphemy. Even in the filth of the Underhive, Kalons presence carried weight. His robes, once the deep violet of the Scholastica Psykana, now hung in tattered ruin, the hexagrammic wards embroidered upon them frayed and faded. His face was a ruined landscape of scars, his milky-white eyespupil-less, lidlessa testament to decades of sanctioned service to the Imperium. One who had survived long enough to be granted use within the regiment. "You decrepit old bastard," Burr sneered. "Always interrupting me. This had better be important." Qin Mo lifted his head slightly, watching the exchange with quiet interest. A sanctioned psyker serving as a mere officers aide? That was rare. There was history heresomething unsaid. Kalon had interrupted Burr countless times, yet the captain never lashed out in true anger. "They are exhausted," Kalon said simply, his milky-white gaze sweeping over the convicts. "We need them alive. I suggest letting them rest." For a moment, Burr hesitated. No one could lie in front of Kalon. If he said they were at their limit, he had already reached into their minds to confirm it. After a brief pause, Burr exhaled sharply. "Fine." A reluctant squad of PDF logistics soldiers soon arrived, tossing rations to the convicts with visible disdain. "444. Your rations. The Emperor provides." Qin Mo caught the nutrient block, inspecting it with indifference. A standard military issue, superior to the starch-based substitutes fed to lower-hive laborers. Not out of generosity, of coursesimply because it was easier to distribute a single type of ration across the PDF forces and their expendable labor. He peeled open the packaging, revealing a dull, white cube. It looked like wax. He took a bite. It tasted worse than wax. A rancid, protein-heavy stench flooded his senses, the texture dissolving into a dry, chalky paste the moment it touched his tongue. It was less food, more nutritional punishmentengineered for efficiency, not palatability. Instinct demanded that he gag, but he fought it down. Breathing too sharply would send the powder into his lungs, and that would be far worse than enduring the foul taste. He forced the meal down, wiped his mouth, and retrieved a small, battered object from his pocket. A journal. It was worn and frayed, its pages yellowed with grime. As he flipped through it, faint traces of ink and graphite peeked through the filthmemories scrawled in uneven handwriting. This was more than a diary. It was a lifeline. Within these pages were the fragments of another life. His life. Before this nightmare. Before this hellhole of steel and suffering. Before . Names. Faces. Moments. I, Qin Mo, used to do this and that. My family and friends were so-and-so. When I was a kid, I experienced this. I liked playing this game, listening to that song. Mundane, ordinary things. And yet, as Qin Mo sat in that grimy trench, surrounded by the filth and decay of the Underhive, reading his own words... He smiled. .... He didnt notice Burr and Kalon approaching. They stopped before him. Burr glanced at Kalon. The old psyker gave no signal, yet something unspoken passed between them. With a shift of his weight, Burr let the chainsword at his hip swing forward Smacking Qin Mo on the head. "Ha!" Burr barked out a laugh. "Still awake, 444?" Qin Mo looked up, eyes black as the void. For a single, fleeting moment, Burr saw something in themsomething vast, something ancient, something that did not belong in a mere prisoner. A cold sweat threatened to form at the back of his neck. Then the moment passed. "Psykers," Burr muttered. "Always so dramatic." Kalon, meanwhile, raised a hand. Qin Mos journal floated into the air, hovering toward Kalons waiting palm. The old psyker turned the pages, eyes scanning their contents. Burr smirked. "Whats he got in there? Weird psyker hallucinations?" Kalon didnt answer immediately. He studied the text, brow furrowing. Then, finally, he closed the journal and handed it back. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I cant read it." Burr frowned. "What?" "Its not in Gothic. The structure is strange... foreign. But it is not the scrawl of a corrupted psyker." Kalon turned to Qin Mo, his gaze unreadable. "You may be an untrained psyker, but you are still sane." A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Kalon spoke again. "Prisoner No. 444," he said. "Why were you arrested?" Qin Mo met his gaze. "A noble mistook me for prey during a hunt in the lower hive," he said. "So I burned him to a crisp." Kalons psychic probe drifted toward Qin Mos mindonly to meet nothing. Burr frowned. "Well? Is he lying?" Kalon exhaled. "I dont know. I cant get inside his head." Burr scoffed. "Doesnt matter. We need manpower." Qin Mos eyes narrowed slightly. He knew they wanted something from him. Kalon confirmed it a moment later. "We need your combat abilities," the old psyker said. "The key to your suppression collar is in my hands." His next words sent a chill through the air. "When the time comes... I will unlock it." Chapter 2: Artillery Qin Mos lips curled into a faint smile as he stared at Kalon. "Unlock a psyker''s collar?"he mused. "Are you sure about that?" He wasnt being coy. He was being serious. Psykers were dangerous abominations. Walking catastrophes, ticking time bombs waiting to detonate. The Imperium feared them for good reasonif an untrained psyker lost control, it was bad enough. But that wasnt the true horror. The real threat lurked beyond reality. A psyker''s soul burned like a beacon in the Warp, drawing the attention of the Ruinous Powers. At any moment, a whisper, a flicker of temptation, or a moment of weakness could transform them into puppets of Chaos, vessels through which the nightmares of the Immaterium could spill into realspace. To remove a suppression collar? That was suicide. And yet, Kalon said it so casually. "Worry not, mongrel, the old psyker rasped. "Your leash stays coiled. Should I loose it, you will burn bright and brief." His pupil-less eyes gleamed with cold certainty. "Die to the cults filth, or by my hand. Either way, you serve the Throne." Qin Mos gaze shifted to Kalons staff. A golden scepter, its tip adorned with the Imperial Aquila, radiating a faint aura of psychic power. It wasnt just an old mans walking stick. It was a weapon. "From this hour, Kalon intoned, you labor not with hands, but with . Conserve your strength for the pyre." Then, without another word, he turned and left. Burr lingered for a moment longer, glancing at Qin Mo with an expression that was neither pity nor contemptjust calculation. Then he followed. Qin Mo rolled his eyes and lowered his head, flipping open his journal. It was one of the two things keeping him sane. The first was reading his past recordsmemories of a life that felt more like a dream with each passing day. The second was designing. Weapons. Technology. Devices. Schematics filled the pages of his journalsome absurd, some plausible, all crafted with a precision that surprised even him. He had never been a scientist. He barely understood calculus. And yet, whenever he focused on an invention, the necessary knowledge surfaced in his mind like it had always been there. "Maybe Ive been blessed by Tzeentch," he muttered dryly. A joke. The first time he had spoken that name aloud, he had immediately regretted it. This was . You didnt say their names unless you wanted to draw their attention. Yet nothing had happened. Maybe it was because "Tzeentch" was just a translated name. Maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, since there were no whispers in his head, no daemonic claws raking at his soul, he had stopped worrying about it. Right now, his mind was fixated on one design in particular A Gravity Shield. A localized gravitational distortion field that rendered physical projectiles worthless. The wearer remained unaffected, but within a two-meter radius, gravity would spike a hundredfold. Bullets would be crushed midair. Shells would implode before impact. A defense that nullified conventional ballistics. The blueprint was complete. Now, it just needed to be built. And Qin Mo had already thought of a hundred different ways to do it. "Perfect." Satisfied, he closed his journal and let his gaze drift downward, toward a puddle at the bottom of the trench. Technically, it wasnt waterit was coolant fluid, likely from a malfunctioning lasgun, spilled by some idiot who hadnt checked his weapon properly. The liquid reflected his face perfectly. Qin Mo admired his own reflection for a moment, then sighed. "Qin Mo, youre a damn genius." But as he basked in his own brilliance, something flickered in the reflection. Something small. And getting bigger. His expression froze. "What the hell is that?" His hand moved instinctively, reaching out to touch the puddle The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the object shuddered. It wasnt in the puddle. It was above him. "BOOM!" A massive explosion erupted overhead. Metal shards ripped through the trench, sending bodies flying. A fraction of a second later, the thunderous roar of the blast rolled through the battlefield. .... Every soldier, every prisoner, every soul in the sector jerked upright, their heads snapping toward the source of the blast. The frontline trench was gone. Their minds stalled. Until the second shell landed Right in the middle of their position. The detonation was instantaneous. Ten soldiersmen who had been eating, resting, existingwere suddenly gone. Their bodies reduced to shredded, unrecognizable gore. A jagged metal fragment spun through the air, lodging itself in the ground at Burrs feet. ARTILLERY! Burrs roar cut through the bedlam as he dove into filth. Kalon, standing beside him, did not flinch. Instead, he raised his staff And slammed it into the ground. A purple energy field erupted around them, a shimmering barrier of psychic force. The first two shells had been ranging shots. Now, the real bombardment began. The sky screamed as dozensno, hundredsof shells rained down like the wrath of a vengeful god. Blinding flashes. Sar?h the Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Deafening explosions. Agonized screams. The trenches disintegrated under the bombardment. The PDF soldiers were completely unpreparedthey werent even in cover. Not that it wouldve mattered. The defenses werent finished. And now, they never would be. Huddled within Kalons psychic barrier, Burr could do nothing but watch as his men were torn apart. "How the hell are they shelling us?!" he demanded. This was supposed to be the rear lines. The PDF was advancing downward, pushing deeper into the hive. For the Evolution Cultists to hit them here They would have to already be behind them. Burr shivered. Whether they had punched through the front or somehow flanked them, the result was the same Half the garrison was dead. "We have to fall back!" Burr shouted. "Use your psyker powers! Order a retreat!" "No." Kalons voice was cold. His hollow eyes locked onto the thickening smoke. Something was moving within it. Figures. Dozens. Hundreds. The enemy was emerging. They werent just shelling them. This was a full-scale assault. A wave of cultist soldiers charged toward the trenches, weapons raised, their frenzied screams carried by the howling wind. Burrs blood ran cold. A retreat now meant total collapse. And in the Underhive, a routed force was as good as dead. "That psyker!" Burr hissed suddenly. "That psyker! Find Qin Mo! Unlock his collar! Let him take the hit first!" Kalon hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded. "It might be our only option." His eyes closed as his psychic senses reached out But he was too late. Qin Mo had already taken a direct hit. He wasnt dead. But his body was riddled with shrapnel. And if someone had thermal vision, they would see something impossible The heat from the explosion was flowing into him. His flesh was absorbing it. His wounds were closing. But his mind, rattled by the impact, was still foggy. Half-conscious. Caught between wakefulness and dreams. Qin Mo saw a vision. Chapter 3: The Genestealers Qin Mo drifted through the void. Beyond the material universe, beyond the constraints of time, he existed as something vast and formless. He siphoned energy from dying suns, devoured the sentient life that worshiped them, and drifted endlessly through the void. For eternity, this was his existenceuntil he reached the fringes of a distant galactic sector. And there, he saw the light. A blinding radiance tore through reality, warping the fabric of space, collapsing entire star systems into a singularity. The sheer force of the warp-born detonation shattered him, crushing his consciousness like brittle glass. A pain beyond death consumed him. He screamed And then, he woke. Qin Mo''s eyes snapped open, the vision dissolving into grim reality. The battlefield surrounded him. The stench of promethium and cordite hung heavy in the air, mingling with the burnt-meat scent of charred bodies. The smoke of battle was beginning to thin, revealing the enemy''s approaching ranks The Genestealers. Heretical Tyranid-human hybrids, an unholy fusion of stolen genetics and hive fleet monstrosity. They came in a swarm, chittering in their corrupted tongue, their twisted, malformed faces barely recognizable as once-human. Behind them, the thunder of armored treads rumbled through the trenches. The cultists had brought tanks. But Qin Mo barely noticed them. His hands instinctively searched his pockets Only to find nothing. His pockets were gone. His entire uniform had been shredded by the explosion. Lying prone in the trench, he desperately sifted through the debris, pushing aside molten metal shards and ruined ceramite plates. He whispered a silent prayer to the God-Emperor, a plea to the Master of Mankind Let me find it. Let me find my journal. And by some divine providence, he did. Or rather, what was left of it. The once-thick tome was obliterated. Only a single, tattered page remained, half of it reduced to scorched cinders. "No no NO!" Qin Mo''s grief was absolute. The words could be rewritten. The knowledge could be preserved. But the journal itselfthe final relic of his past lifewas irreplaceable. It had been a gift from his mother when he was seven years old. A fragment of home, a tether to a life long lost. Now, it was ash. "Advance! Advance!" "For the Master of Evolution!" "For our Savior!" The heretics'' battle cries echoed across the trenches. The ground trembled beneath the march of tanks. Qin Mo clenched his fists. He carefully rolled the last surviving page into the remains of his trousers, then rose to his feet. He did not feel fear. Only rage. The Genestealers had taken everything from this world. They had stolen the bodies of its people, twisted them into monstrosities, defiled the sanctity of the human form. Now, they had taken his journal. They would burn for it. .... A figure moved toward him. Kalon. The old psyker strode across the battlefield with unnatural speed, his power warping the air around him. Incoming lasfire and autogun rounds veered away from him at the last second, deflected by invisible force. His eyes locked onto Qin Mo, and with a flick of his wrist, something glinted through the smoke A key, flying toward him. "Hurry!" Kalon shouted. "Unlock your psy-dampening collar!" But he was too late. Before the key could reach him, the heretics were upon him. A dozen hybrid soldiers charged at once, screeching in frenzy, their claws and chitin-bladed weapons raised to strike. And then The world erupted in flame. A pillar of fire exploded outward from where Qin Mo stood, incinerating everything within a thirty-meter radius. The Genestealers never had the chance to scream. Their bodies turned to cinders in an instant. The psy-dampening collar around his neck, marked with the sigil of Prisoner 444, began to burn. Cracks formed along its surface. Qin Mo floated above the battlefield, two meters off the ground. His eyes blazed like twin suns. Lightning crawled across his skin, arcing from his fingertips. His body radiated heat, warpfire licking at his tattered clothes. The heretics saw him. They opened fire. Their tanks halted, turret servos whining as they adjusted their aim. Qin Mo did not move. He did not dodge. He raised his hands One wreathed in fire, the other crackling with lightning. With a mere thought, he unleashed hell. Where the flames touched, the enemy was reduced to ash. Where the lightning struck, bodies exploded, mutant flesh bursting apart as the sheer voltage cooked them from within. A Leman Russ battle tank attempted to fire But its turret warped before the shot could leave the barrel, the metal twisting and screaming as if crushed by an invisible hand. The ammunition stored within was ripped from its housing, yanked into the air Then struck by lightning. The detonation was cataclysmic. The tank exploded from within, its turret blown skyward, a column of fire spewing into the heavens. .... From the trenches, Burr watched in horror. Kalon, beside him, could only stare in shock. A psykerstill wearing a suppression collarwas ripping apart an entire battlefield with raw, unchecked power. Even the crude anti-psyker collars used in the Talon System had some effect on Beta Grade psykers. But Qin Mo stood defiant, obliterating his enemies as if the collar had never been there. "Fall back!" Burr bellowed. Kalon hesitated. "We must hold the line!" "The line is already gone!" Burr roared back. "We need to" He never finished his sentence. A deafening blast cut him off. For an instant, Kalon was there. The next, he was gonereduced to a mist of blood and charred flesh. A heretic suicide bomber, unnoticed in the chaos, had crept too close. Struck by a stray bolt of Qin Mos lightning, its body had detonated in a chain reaction of explosives. As Kalons remains scattered across the battlefield, Burr wasted no time. He ran. His personal Chimera Armored Carrier was parked nearby. As he reached it, he wrenched open the hatch And froze. There was someone inside or...something. At first glance, it resembled a man. But its legs were too long. And it was crouched over the pilot''s corpsefeeding. For a single, agonizing moment, their eyes met. Then It screamed. "RAAHHH!!" Sarch* The novlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And lunged. Burr barely had time to react before the nightmare was upon him. .... And in that moment, as the battlefield descended into total chaos, Qin Mo knew one thing. He couldnt hold out alone. "The central bunker!" he roared. "Regroup at the bunker!" His voice was drowned by gunfire and Artillery. So he acted. He cut a path through the enemy, rallying the survivors Until at last Over two hundred PDF soldiers stood behind him. And together, they charged toward the half-built bunker Their final refuge in the storm of war. Chapter 4: The Breakthrough "Thrones teeth, what now?!" "Im a prisoner! I never even received a weapon!" "What else? We hold the line!" "I dont have a gun! I dont have a gun! I DONT HAVE A GUN!!" "Ill man the heavy stubber! Take my lasgun!" The remnants of the prisoner battalion had survivedbarely. Many had nothing but shovels and hammers, makeshift weapons that would do little against the coming onslaught. Yet they werent fools. They had rallied with the PDF soldiers instead of running, and that was the only reason they were still alive. The half-built bunker had become their last refuge. A skeletal structure of ferrocrete and steel support beams, the bunker reeked of promethium, blood, and desperation. Rubble littered the floor, stained with boot treads and spent casings. Inside, the emplaced heavy stubber spat fire, its muzzle flashing in half-meter bursts, streams of tracer rounds ripping into the oncoming enemy. Lasfire lanced out from the firing slits, precise and disciplined, cutting down traitors by the dozens. The added firepower relieved some of the pressure on Qin Mo. Now, he no longer had to fight off the infantry himselfhe could focus solely on threats that lasguns and stubbers couldnt stop. Suicide bombers. Tanks. The heretic horde was vast, far too many to kill them all before they reached the bunker walls. Qin Mo knew it would come down to melee combat. .... His eyes scanned the battlefield. Kalon was dead. Qin Mo wasnt sure when it had happenedonly that his force staff now lay embedded in the dirt where his body had once stood. Nearby, among a heap of corpses, a chainsword stood upright, buried deep in the chest cavity of a fallen warrior. Qin Mo extended his hand. The two weapons levitated, spinning in the air before flying toward him, landing with a dull thud inside the bunker. Telekinesis. His third ability, alongside pyrokinesis and electrokinesis. But he didnt just arm himself He armed the others. With swift, precise gestures, he used his power to drag discarded weapons and armor into the bunker, distributing whatever was salvageable. Most of it was PDF-issue flak armorcheap, standard-issue, mass-produced. Nowhere near as durable as carapace plating, but still capable of stopping a las-round or two before shattering. He also retrieved bayonets and more lasguns. The ones he found were M35-pattern, extended bayonet mountsperfect for close-quarters combat. The prisoners lacked training, but they knew desperation. If they were going to die, theyd die swinging. Then A distant thunderclap. Qin Mo''s blood ran cold. Artillery. Were done for. A PDF trooper looked up, his face ashen. All eyes turned to the sky. The bunker was unfinishedit had no roof. They were sitting ducks. If even one shell landed inside, they would be obliterated. "Focus on the fight!" Qin Mo snapped, forcing himself to stay calm. He turned his gaze upward. And he felt them. Twenty shells. Each falling individually, each a separate trajectory through the sky. Qin Mo shifted his focusnot to the shells, but to the air itself. The rounds should have struck home. But instead They detonated midair. As if they had collided with something unseen. Qin Mo had altered the very laws of physics, warping the air into something as solid as adamantiumif only for a brief moment. The soldiers around him stared, stunned. "Did did he just block artillery?" But there was no time to celebrate. The artillery had failed But the heretics were charging. .... Their numbers had thinned, but their resolve had not wavered. They fixed bayonets, howling in religious fervor, preparing to overwhelm the bunker defenders in a mass melee. "Ammo count?" Qin Mo asked. "Sir, were dry." Qin Mo said nothing. Instead, he raised his hands. The chainsword at his feet floated into the air, its grip settling into his right hand. The force staff drifted toward his left. The remaining soldierssilent, determinedfixed bayonets to their lasguns. The prisoners gripped hammers, shovels, anything that could kill. Qin Mo considered saying something. Something inspiring. Something to rally them. But he was no orator. In the end, only one thing needed to be said. "It is an honor to fight alongside you." He thumbed the activation rune on his chainsword. The weapon roared to life. "FOR THE EMPEROR!" "FOR THE EMPEROR!" The defenders charged. The first to reach the enemy was a prisoner Screaming, swinging a shovel. He was immediately swallowed by the heretic horde. Qin Mo paid it no mind. He leapt forward Into the very heart of the enemy formation. His chainsword howled, ripping through flesh and bone. His force staff struck the ground And fire erupted in all directions. The gap his flames carved was instantly filled with more charging heretics Only for them to be greeted by a storm of lightning. "KILL HIM! USE THE BOMBS!" "FOR THE SAVIOR!" Hearing their cries, Qin Mo turned. He thrust his staff forward A bolt of searing lightning erupted from the Aquila-shaped head, arcing through the enemy ranks. The suicide bombers it touched detonated instantly, their explosives triggering a chain reaction that obliterated entire squads. Qin Mo exhaled heavily. This was power. To stand alone against hundreds. To turn the tide of battle with sheer force of will. But in his fury, he failed to notice something. His force staff wasnt amplifying his abilities. It was only acting as an extension of his body. Then "SHELL THEM!" Qin Mo spun, decapitating a heretic mid-turn. Another voicehesitant. "But our own troops" "SHELL THEM!" Qin Mos heart sank. He had already spent too much energy. He couldnt warp reality againnot fast enough. If the artillery fired Then A blinding flash. An explosion in the distance. The heretics froze. Something important had just been destroyed. Even the one Qin Mo had just beheaded Its corpse, twitching, still moving toward the blast zone, its dying mind still seeking its master. Then The battle was over. The heretics vanished, fleeing into the darkness. Qin Mo collapsed, gasping for breath. He looked aroundsearching for survivors. They came. One by one, stumbling, bloodied, but alive. When they had entered the bunker, there had been two hundred. Now Less than twenty remained. "Grey." A young PDF trooper stepped forward, raising his fist in the Aquila salute. "Sir. What are your orders?" Qin Mo blinked. "Youre asking me?" He was a prisoner. A unsanctioned psyker. Not an officer. But the soldiers didnt seem to care. At some point, they had simply started following him. Then "Your collar." The young soldier pointed. "It didnt affect you at all, did it? Should we remove it?" Qin Mo reached up, touching his neck. And only then did he remember Sar?h the n??el Fire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He was still wearing the psy-dampening collar. Chapter 5: Personal Gravity Shield "I thought the damn collar was broken." Qin Mo raised his hand, a faint crackle of static dancing in the stale air, a flicker of fire igniting at his fingertips before surging forth in a controlled inferno. The psy?dampening collar encasing his neck was engulfed in flame, metal glowing red?hot before crumbling into slag. He should have felt relief. Instead, cold dread coiled in his gut. Fighting under psychic suppression should have been impossible. No sanctioned psykerno should have breached such bindings. The collar was no mere restraint; it was a Witch-Cage, designed to sever the souls tether to the Immaterium. And yet, he had wielded fire and lightning, bent reality to his willall while wearing it. That shouldnt be possible. There were only two explanations. Either his abilities didnt originate from the Warp, or the collar simply wasnt strong enough to suppress them. A cold realization settled over him. Had he been captured by the Imperium and thrown onto a Black Ship, he would have had his answer. The Sisters of Silence, nulls who radiated anathema to psychic energy, would have revealed the truth. If they could suppress him, then his power was psychic in nature, and the collar was merely defective. If they couldnt Then his abilities were something else entirely. Qin Mo shuddered. No. He had no desire to test that theory. The Black Ships did not ferry their cargo to answersthey harvested souls for the Golden Throne, grinding them to ash in its unending hunger. No amount of curiosity was worth that risk. .... "You alright?" Grey''s voice cut through his thoughts. "I''m fine." Qin Mo shook himself free of speculation, refocusing on their predicament. His gaze swept over the battered remnants of their squad. "First, we need to move. After that, we have two choiceseither we take the tunnels up to the Lower Hive, or we stay and keep fighting." A heavy silence fell over the group. They all understood what staying meantdeath. The front lines were crumbling, and the rebels would be upon them soon. The Lower Hive was the logical escape route. But logic didnt always align with reality. "If we try to leave" Grey''s expression darkened. "Will the friendlies guarding the tunnel exits even let us through?" Qin Mo exhaled sharply. "The Hive is desperate for manpower, but deserters from the Underhive are likely executed as examples. Thats just my assumption, though. I dont know for sure." Doubt spread among them like a plague. They had seen the bodies of deserters beforestrung up on hive walls, left as a warning. Escape might mean survival or a lasbolt to the skull. Grey was the first to break the silence. He raised his hand. "I have family. If I get executed, they''ll suffer for it. I have to stay." "Ill stay too," another soldier muttered. "If I die fighting, at least my wife and daughter will get a widows pension. If I run theyll get nothing but shame." "I dont have family," another spoke, his fists clenching. "I just want to kill more traitors. For the Emperor! For the Master of Mankind!" One by one, those who chose to remain raised their handsfive in total. The remaining thirteen stayed quiet, their silence speaking louder than words. Qin Mo nodded. "Then go. But leave your weapons and ammunition behind. I need them." There was a moment of hesitation, but only a moment. Then, in a gesture that had never been offered to their officers or noble commanders, the deserters saluted him in the manner of the Aquila. He was a convict. And yet, without him, none of them would have survived long enough to make this choice. "Well leave our weapons," one of them said. "And our rations and water, too." "May the Emperor watch over you, loyal warriors." Lasguns, charge packs, and ammunition were stacked neatly. Canteens and ration packs followed. One soldier stripped off his jacket and boots, offering them to Qin Mohis own uniform little more than bloodstained rags. Then, without another word, the thirteen turned and walked away, casting glances back with every step. Six remained. "What now?" Grey asked, his voice quieter now that their numbers had thinned. "Do we go hunting for rebels, or do we hold this position?" "Staying put isnt an option," Qin Mo replied. "The explosion that saved us was likely caused by friendly forces. We need to find them and link up." He dropped to the ground, crossing his legs as he dismantled a lasgun with swift, practiced motions. "But first, I need to build something." Grey frowned, watching as Qin Mo stripped the weapon down to its electronic components. His fingers, still smoldering with residual flame, melted the casing with precise heat. The others gathered around, equally bewildered. "Dont just stand there," Qin Mo ordered. "Two of you, keep watch. The rest, gather every scrap of metal and electronics you can find." "Yes, sir." Grey nodded, signaling another soldier to join him on lookout while the rest scoured the battlefield for salvage. ... A pile of disassembled weapons, scavenged electronics, and jagged scrap metal lay before Qin Mo. "Did you guys seriously take apart Captain Burrs Chimera?" he asked without looking up. "Yes," one soldier admitted. "I wanted to fix it, but the engine had three claw marks gouged through the core." "Then its junk," Qin Mo muttered, already engrossed in his work. The others watched in fascination as he molded steel with his bare hands. The metal softened as if it had turned to clay, shifting under his will before cooling into new shapes. Two thin rods hovered beside him, held aloft by an unseen force, acting as precise tools for fine adjustments. Stripped wires twisted and reconnected seamlessly, circuits repairing themselves in a process that seemed almost unnatural. Piece by piece, a backpack-like device took shape. Grey finally broke the silence. "What the hell is that? A backpack?" "Put it on." Grey hesitated before slipping the device over his shoulders. He staggered under the sudden weight. "Holy shitthis thing is heavy!" Qin Mo smirked. "Its a personal gravity shield. It''ll stop solid projectiles." Grey stared at him. "A ?" Instead of answering, Qin Mo casually flicked a grenade toward him. Grey barely had time to register what was happening before the pin popped free. "Get down!" someone shouted. Everyone except Qin Mo hit the dirt. The grenade detonated. Shrapnel exploded outwardonly to into the ground as if crushed by an invisible hand. Slowly, the soldiers lifted their heads. A pile of twisted metal shards lay harmlessly around Greys feet. "As you can see, it protects against kinetic attacks," Qin Mo said, completely unfazed. "It runs on lasgun charge packseach one gives you about ten minutes of protection." There was no pride in his voice. No boast. He spoke as if crafting a personal gravity shield was nothing more than an idle pastime. Grey took a deep breath. "And what about lasguns?" "A lasbolt will burn straight through you and the shield," Qin Mo admitted. "But most of the rebels are using scavenged solid-projectile firearms." "Stopping bullets is good enough," Grey muttered, still shaken. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "In war, is never just ''good enough,''" Qin Mo corrected, already working on the next shield. "Now, send out scouts. Find any surviving friendlies. If we locate them, we move immediately." The soldiers snapped to attention, their hesitation gone. Qin Mo worked. The shield hummed. War a waited. Chapter 6: The Rebel Psyker After Grey and another soldier left to scout, the remaining troops either continued to watch Qin Mo perform his "technomantic sorcery" or sifted through the battlefield for anything useful. As it turned out, their initial scavenging had been far too cursory. Many valuable items had been overlooked. One such find was the power armor worn by Captain Burrs bodyguards. At first glance, the suits had been so thoroughly torn apart that they were indistinguishable from scrap. That was why they had initially been dismissed. "Captain Burr is missing, but all of his guards are dead. I found the only suit thats still somewhat intact," one soldier reported as he and another dragged half of a shattered power armor set toward Qin Mo, dropping it before him. "Should we look for Burr?" someone asked. Qin Mo shook his head, patting the chainsword strapped to his waist. "No need. I have his weapon. Hes probably just another shredded corpse on the battlefield by nowonly the Emperor knows where he ended up." Without another word, he turned his full attention to the ruined armor at his feet. The moment his eyes fell upon it, his mind unraveled its schematics and inner workings. The Rikarn-1 modelone of the few notable exports of the Talon Sector, aside from its population and psy-suppression collars. Handcrafted by the artisan clans of the Hive Worlds Spire, it was exorbitantly expensive yet arguably the worst power armor available to the average human in the Imperium. "Can you replicate it?" The question came from one of the soldiers, but all eyes were already fixed on Qin Mo, waiting for his answer. Even if Rikarn armor was subpar, it was still power armor. Qin Mo didnt respond immediately. His gaze remained locked onto the suit, his mind deconstructing its every flaw. To him, its so-called "secret craftsmanship" was laughably simple. Not only could he replicate ithe could improve it. But something else held his attention. The damage. The armor hadnt been breached by bullets or lasfire. It had been . The chest platemeant to shield the heart with a 20mm-thick alloyhad been shredded as if it were little more than parchment. Only one thing could do that. A Genestealer had been in this battle. Qin Mos stomach tightened. The purer the bloodline, the stronger the Genestealer. Shredding power armor was one thing. A purestrain could tear apart Terminator armorthe ceramite-clad shells worn by the Imperiums elite Space Marineswith terrifying ease. They werent just fighting rebels. They were fighting something far worse. Qin Mo exhaled sharply and looked up at his squad. "If you see an enemy crawling on all fours and without a weapon, immediately activate your gravity shields and alert me. Dont hesitate." The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in unison. None of them understood why Qin Mo had abruptly shifted from discussing power armor to enemy tactics, but they had seen enough of his abilities to trust his judgment. "I can replicate this armor," Qin Mo finally admitted. "But this wreckage is beyond repair. Well need more raw materials first." It wasnt just about armor. In his mind, Qin Mo had already decidedhe would arm this squad to the teeth, cost and efficiency be damned. The Planetary Defense Force was barely a step above civilians in combat effectiveness. With reinforcements unlikely, survival would depend on superior equipment. He intended to provide it. "Found friendlies!" Greys voice rang out as he sprinted toward them. Qin Mo slung his gravity shield over his back and moved without hesitation. .... The local Planetary Defense Forces were entrenched inside a towering ten-story hab-block, locked in a brutal battle against the rebels. Most of their forces defended the front and rear entrances, while others fired down from shattered windows. According to their scouts, the rebels numbered over twenty thousand their strength. Had it not been for the sudden, inexplicable retreat of most rebel forces earlier, the enemy assault force would have been three or even four times larger. Yet, what unnerved them most was the enemys unnatural appearance. Among the ranks of insurgents, grotesque humanoids stood side by side with monstrosities that should not have existed. And yet, they werent mindless. Their infantry advanced in disciplined formations, using their tanks as mobile cover, each step calculated. Every ten meters, the tanks halted, turrets rotating, their cannons belching fire as they sent shells toward the hab-block. Some rounds ricocheted off reinforced walls. Others found their mark, . The enemy armor closed to seventy meters from the front entrance. The shelling shiftedno longer aimed at the windows, but at the main doors. The PDFs first-floor defenders huddled behind reinforced barricades, pinned under the concussive blasts. They were protected from the shrapnel, but the shockwaves rattled their bodies, making return fire impossible. .... Through the smoke, a Neophyte Hybrid emerged from a tanks cupola, his purple-bulbous head swiveling on a stalk-like neck. He bore the glyphs of the Cult of the Four?Armed Emperor, inked in acidic ichor along his carapace. Advance, blessed kin! he screeched, bile dripping from distended jaws. The Four-Armed Emperor hungers! As the infantry broke formation and surged toward the entrance, the Hybrid climbed back inside, personally taking control of the tanks main gun. Through his targeting scope, he watched as his troops stormed the ground flooronly to be by a wall of autogun fire from behind the barricades. His lips curled into a sneer. He fired another shell, the entrenched defenders. Sarch* The N?vel(F)ire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "For the Cult! For Evolution!" he howled. He prepared to fire againwhen an eerie voice whispered into his mind. ?A psyker and five others have entered the battle. Your rear guard failed to stop themthey have already breached the building.? It was the Magus. The Hybrid commanders sneer disappeared. Before the battle, an agreement had been made. He was free to personally command and fight, but the he received psychic communicationhe was to retreat. "I will fall back at once," he acknowledged. He clapped the driver on the shoulder. "Reverse. Now." The tank lurched backward, shifting into retreat. The Hybrid commander kept his targeting optics locked onto the entrance, finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire at any moment. Then, he saw them. Six figures emerged from the wreckage of the ground-floor barricades, sprinting into the open. At the lead was a man wielding a chainsword in his right hand and a staff in his left. A psyker. "Die!" The Hybrid commander fired. Qin Mo raised his staffhis mind warping the projectiles physical properties. The shell froze midair. Then, without warning It reversed direction, flying into the tanks barrel And detonated inside. The crew was instantly. The Hybrid commander, however, surviveda psychic barrier shielding him in the nick of time. He was the only thing left intact. Him, and the ammunition racks inside the ruined vehicle. "Theres a psyker among them!" Qin Mo kept running, scanning the battlefield, searching for the rebel psyker. Then He activated his gravity shield and stepped forward. Standing beside the crippled tank, he reached out. A tremor shook the air. The entire tank groaned, metal twisting under an unseen force. And then It collapsed inward. With a , the armored vehicle was flattened into a perfectly smooth slab of metal. Chapter 7: This Is Not the Warp "Wheres the psyker?!" Qin Mos gaze swept the battlefield, his senses sharpened to a razors edge. He searched for the enemy psykerthe one who had whispered into the Hybrid commanders mindbut found nothing. No lingering psychic resonance. No Warp disturbances. Nothing. His brow furrowed. A psyker had warned the enemy. That much was certain. And yet, there was no trace of them. He turned and addressed the stunned PDF soldiers inside the hab-block. These troops had been fighting the rebels for hours, but they had only seen one psyker todayQin Mo himself. "Get out of the open!" A PDF officer rushed down from the second floor, calling out to him. "We need to hold this position together!" Qin Mo ignored him. Standing unshielded in the crossfire, he simply adjusted the gravity shield on his back and swept his gaze across the exhausted, terrified soldiers. They had been pushed to their limits by the relentless assault. Their eyes betrayed fear and fatigue. Qin Mo knew he needed to do something to restore morale. His gaze met Greys. Grey nodded silently. He turned to the remaining four surviving soldiers of the 44th Regiment, and they silently stepped forward, forming up behind Qin Mo. Each stood three meters apart, careful not to overlap their gravity shield fields. "The best defense is a good offense," Qin Mo declared, turning toward the onslaught of rebels charging at him. He walked forward. Grey and the others advanced alongside him, firing their weapons with a calm and disciplined brutality. Though they acted fearless, a sliver of doubt gnawed at them. The gravity shields allowed them to walk through hails of bullets like they were strolling through a park but what if the enemy had lasguns? Greys fears were soon confirmed. He spotted a cluster of rebels wielding , their weapons aimed at Qin Mo. He turned to warn him only to realize that Qin Mo had already accounted for this. Within a 500-meter radius, the laws of probability were no longer absolute, the very laws of physics bent to his will. Under his selective reality manipulation, the hit probability of every incoming lasbolt was mathematically reduced to zero. Lasgun fire veered off course, deflecting harmlessly into the ground. Qin Mo took ten more steps forward. Then, he raised his staff and slammed it into the earth. A torrent of flame erupted forward, spreading in a wide fan-shaped inferno. Metal melted. Bodies were reduced to ash. From the windows above, PDF soldiers watched in awe as an entire wave of rebels was erased in seconds. Qin Mo raised his staff again. He pressed the ignition switch on his chainsword, and as its teeth spun to life with a savage growl, he declared: "For the Golden Throne!" His unyielding figure stood defiant amidst gunfire and artillery shells, untouched by either. Atop his staff, the golden Aquila of the Imperium gleamed in the firelight, casting a divine radiance over the battlefield. The soldiers inside the building felt their blood boil. They believedthe Emperor Himself was watching them from the Golden Throne, expecting His warriors to prove their courage. "For the Emperor." A spark ignited. "FOR THE EMPEROR!" A deafening war cry erupted as the PDF troopers surged forward, rushing out of the building with fanatical fervor. .... Qin Mo led the charge, gravity shield deactivated, chainsword tearing apart every enemy in his path. His fearless assault only fueled his allies'' fervorthey fought not just to survive, but to be worthy of charging alongside him. But in reality Qin Mo was barely standing. His body felt like lead, his limbs sluggish and numb. His eyelids were so heavy that turning his head took all his remaining willpower. He was exhausted. Sar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The sheer effort of rewriting the laws of physicsbending an entire battlefields probabilities to nullify lasfirehad drained him completely. And then He encountered the enemy he feared the most. Not a hulking Genestealer aberrant but a small, wretched, purple-skinned creature, crawling like a grotesque parody of Gollum. A Neurogaunt. One of the most dangerous threats to psykers in the Tyranid gene cults. It had a singular, terrifying ability Warp Disruption. "" The Neurogaunt scuttled onto the back of a rebel cultist, its beady eyes glowing with a sickly purple radiance. It locked eyes with Qin Moeven from a hundred meters away. It was already activating its Warp-nullifying ability. Qin Mo instinctively braced for the backlash. And then Nothing. The Neurogaunts ability had no effect on him. The two simply stared at each other. The silence was deafening. ? ? For a moment, the alien creatures expression shifteda clear look of confusion. Qin Mo raised his staff and unleashed a storm of lightning, incinerating the Neurogaunt and everything within a 30-meter radius. .... He scanned the battlefield. The rebel forcesalready leaderlesswere beginning to collapse under the fanatical counterattack of the PDF. The rear guard started to break and flee, though many still fought desperately. Qin Mo decided to shatter their morale completely. He rose into the air, energy crackling around him. And then Within a 50-meter radius at the center of the enemy formation, reality began to unravel. The metallic ground beneath their feet turned soft like a sponge, then melted into liquid, drowning those who stepped on it. Armor plating pulsed and shifted, flowing through veins like blood, or spilling like liquid metal onto the ground. Bullets fired at the PDF suddenly changed direction, looping backward to strike their own shooters in the head. Bayonets stabbed outwardonly for the rebels to suddenly find themselves impaled by their own weapons. Within seconds, every single cultist in the affected zone was dead. The remaining rebelsthose who witnessed this horrorfinally broke completely. Screaming in blind terror, they fled in all directions, abandoning their weapons as they ran. Even the Planetary Defense Forces, who had been fighting alongside Qin Mo, stared at him in horrified silence. When he finally descended back to the ground, only Grey and the four remaining 44th Regiment soldiers stood by him. Everyone else had instinctively stepped back, keeping a careful distance. Qin Mo exhaled shakily. "This isnt the Warp." His voice was weak. No one understood what he meant. No one knew why he had said it. Only Qin Mo himself knew The Neurogaunts nullification ability had failed to affect him. Which meant His power was not psychic in nature. But if it wasnt Warp-based Then what the hell was it? The soldiers and officers still stared at him in fear. "He just saved your damn lives!" Grey snapped at them, furious. "Youd all be dead, torn apart by the rebelsjust like the rest of the 44th Infantry!" Shame flickered across their faces. They were grateful. But they were also afraid. "I need to rest," Qin Mo muttered. He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing. He barely managed to keep himself upright by leaning heavily on his staff. The fight had drained him completely. Only sheer willpower kept him on his feet. Grey rushed to his side, taking his chainsword and gravity shield pack to lighten his load. "Hes right," a large soldier finally muttered. "He saved us." He moved to carry Qin Mo, but Qin Mo simply handed him his staff and leaned on another 44th Regiment survivor for support. The remaining medics rushed to check his condition, while the others hurried insideclearing a room for him to rest. Chapter 8: Strange Dream So, half of the rebel forces attacking your position just disappeared? Not halfall of them. On the rooftop of the battered hab-blocks highest level, the survivors huddled around a small, makeshift fire. The meager flames crackled as they fed on broken furniture and scraps of promethium-soaked cloth, casting flickering shadows across the soot-stained walls. Around them, spent lasgun power packs lay in neat rows, absorbing the fires residual heat to rechargean old Underhive trick born from desperation. Gray recounted how he and Qin Mo had ended up here, though he deliberately omitted certain detailssuch as the existence of the gravity shield, or the psykers true identity. The other survivors of the 44th Infantry Regiment shared an unspoken understanding. No one mentioned that Qin Mo was a unsanctioned psyker prisoner. Not out of loyalty. Not even out of respect. Simply because, in the grand, merciless calculus of the Imperium, he was still useful. As of now, only the surviving members of the 44th knew that Qin Mo was alive. If the rebels were crushed, they could fabricate evidence of his death, erasing his existence from the official records. Let him vanish into the depths of the Underhive, where the long arm of the Administratum rarely reached. And if the rebels werent defeated Then everyone in the Underhive would die anyway, and reports would be meaningless. A figure stepped forwardan officer of the 47th Infantry Regiment, his uniform frayed and spattered with grime, yet still worn with the rigid discipline of a lifelong soldier. He removed his cap in solemn respect. As the commander of the 47th, I salute you. I grieve for the loss of your comrades. A moment of silence followed. Without command, every soldier present followed their officers lead, bowing their heads. The only sound was the crackling fire and the distant echoes of gunfire from below. Three minutes passed before the commander finally spoke again, voice low and careful. That psyker Forgive me, I struggle to find a more respectful titlehas he been trained and sanctioned by the Imperium? Of course, Gray answered without hesitation. Otherwise, how do you think he got the Aquila emblem on his staff? The officer exhaled slowly, relief washing over his weathered features. Thats good to hear. An unsanctioned psyker well, we both know what would happen if he lost control. His words were spoken in passing, but Gray felt a chill creep up his spine. A buried memory surfacedone he wished he could forget. He had been a child, no more than eight standard years old, when a psyker in the Lower Hive lost control. It had begun with grief. The man had accidentally killed his own wife and daughter, a burst of raw warp energy tearing them apart at the atomic level. In his anguish, he had collapsed beside the empty space where their bodies had once been and wailed, his cries reverberating through the endless corridors of rusted steel and filth. The air itself rippled, twisting with unseen currents. The walls groaned, warping as the Immaterium bled into realspace. Every soul in the sector felt itthat suffocating, invisible pressure, as if the sky itself had begun to breathe. By the time the echoes of his despair faded, eighty thousand men and women lay deadthe entire forward division of the Planetary Defense Force obliterated in a psychic storm. Some had been fused into the walls, their twisted faces frozen in agony, screaming forever in silence. Others had left behind nothing but blackened shadows on the ground, like fragile ghosts scorched into the Hives surface. That single catastrophe had shattered the PDFs strength, tilting the balance of power toward the rebels. And Qin Mo Gray had seen his power firsthand. If he ever lost control He clenched his fists, forcing the thought away. You know, he doesnt seem the type to break, the officer remarked. His emotions are unnaturally stable. Did he ever show signs of instability? Never, Gray admitted. And it was trueQin Mo was eerily composed, even in the heat of battle. Whats his name? Gray hesitated before answering. A strange name. Qin Mo. The officers brow furrowed. That sounds familiar My grandfather once told me of an angel named Qin Xia. He fought alongside one of my ancestors during the assault on the Kalium Gate. Later, he perished aboard the Lance of Heaven, his soul returning to the Golden Throne. Sir, I remember reading about that in an old chronicle. Wasnt the angel part of the White something Chapter? No, no, the officer said firmly. My grandfather was clearit wasnt a Chapter. It was a Legion. Silence. A Legion? one of the soldiers scoffed. That would mean what? Thousands of years ago? Thousands? The officer let out a quiet chuckle. Try of thousands. The members of the 47th continued their discussion, fascinated by the old war tale. The survivors of the 44th, however, remained silent. Their minds were elsewhere. Gray, in particular, wanted to check on Qin Mo. But he also didnt want to disturb him. So, he simply sat in silence, watching the fire. .... Inside a room at the top of the building, Qin Mo lay asleep on a makeshift mattress, dreaming. He dreamt of soaring through the void, the stars his playground. He dreamt of bending planets to his will, shaping entire worlds as a sculptor shapes clay. Impossible dreams. Yet, they had plagued him long before he ever arrived in this cursed universe. Then, the dream shifted. Illusions peeled away, and he awokenot in the hive city, not in the battlefield, but in a vast, gilded chamber. Marble columns stretched high into the heavens. The bed beneath him was impossibly soft, the air thick with the scent of incense and forgotten memories. A soft sobbing drew his gaze. In the corner of the chamber sat a girl, weeping into her hands. But something was Her form shimmered and twistedone moment a cat, the next an old man, then a tank, a lumber saw, and back again. Shapeshifter She lifted her head. Her eyes burned with an unfathomable rage. S~ea??h the N??elFir.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Qin Mo frowned. What are you talking about? I I dont know. She clutched at her shifting form, distressed. Ive forgotten so much but I know one thing. I call you a traitor. Her form solidifiedinto that of a nobleman, his robes lined with the sigils of a forgotten empire. His movements were fast. Hands clamped around Qin Mos throat. You devoured my friend. Give them ! .... Qin Mo jolted upright, gasping for air. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to shake off the residual terror. Damn it He exhaled, steadying himself. I must be more exhausted than I thought. Something stirred in his memory. Rising to his feet, he retrieved his staff from the corner of the room. With a precise touch of psykinetic energy, he melted away the Aquila emblem, revealing a hidden parchment. The last surviving page of his lost journal. He hadnt kept it purely for sentimentality. Deep down, he believedthat one day, science or sorcery might allow him to reconstruct the rest. He scanned its contents briefly, then concealed it once more. The door swung open. A soldier stepped inside, stiffening into a crisp Aquila salute. Sir, the commander requests your presence at a meeting. Qin Mo arched a brow. A ? Uh youre not willing to go? The soldier looked nervous. Qin Mo smirked. Fine, fine. I get it. As he followed the soldier through the dimly lit corridors, he noticed something. Every trooper he passed stepped aside, heads lowered in deference. Gray must have kept his secret. If they had known he was a psyker prisoner, they would have recoiled in disgustor worse. So those gravity shields hadnt been for nothing, after all. Qin Mo smiled to himself. Chapter 9: It Doesn’t Matter—I’ll Handle It Upon reaching the conference room on the fifth floor of the ruined hab-block, the escorting soldier snapped into a crisp Aquila salute before stepping aside. Qin Mo didnt hesitate. With a firm push, he swung the battered metal door open and strode inside. The chamber was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single lumen-stripped lamp in the center. Around it, Gray and the senior officers of the 47th Infantry Regiment sat on the cold ferrocrete floor. Their uniforms were torn, their armor dentedsurvivors of a war that had yet to end. At the sound of the door, their gazes snapped toward Qin Mo. Without ceremony, he took a seat. The regimental commander cleared his throat. Lets begin. A murmur of agreement passed through the room. The commander turned to Qin Mo, his eyes calculating. Klein, he introduced himself simply. Qin Mo. Klein wasted no time. What should we do next? S~ea??h the ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The question caught Qin Mo off guard. He blinked, realizing that all eyes were now on him. They expected an answer. Lowering his head, he fell into deep thought. Klein, sensing his hesitation, spoke againthis time offering context. According to initial intelligence, the Underhive rebellion was estimated at 30,000 combatants. High Command deployed 170,000 troops to crush them. By all logic, this should have been a massacre. His voice hardened. But reality proved different. The rebels number over 300,000ten times the initial estimate. Theyve established full-scale industrial zones, turning the Underhive into a self-sufficient war machine. He let that sink in before continuing. Three days ago, the entire frontline collapsed in a single night. The Lord Marshal and all senior officers were assassinated. A grim silence followed. Before his death, he realized something was wrong. His final order was to redeploy 50,000 troops to fortify supply linesunder the pretense of reinforcing logistics. Klein exhaled. His piece was said. Qin Mos fingers tapped against his knee. Go on. Klein hesitated. I could, but I dont know what you already understand. Id rather focus on the most important details. Qin Mo met his gaze. I know nothing. A stunned pause. Then: Im not a commander. Im not an officer. I was just a grunt from the 44th Regimentan idiot who got thrown into the Underhive and started digging trenches. I dont even know why High Command wanted defensive positions in an campaign. Ah. Klein nodded, as if something finally made sense. And so, he laid everything bare. .... By the time Klein finished, Qin Mo had fully grasped the scale of the disaster. All long-range communications had been severed. Other than the 50,000 defensive troops, the rest of the invasion force was presumed annihilated. No one knew which fortifications still stood or had already fallen. There was zero coordination between surviving elements. The worst-case scenario?which was also the most reasonable assumptionwas that every other stronghold had already fallen, except for the building they were currently in. They were the last ones left. At least, until proven otherwise. Then, Klein revealed something only regimental officers were privy to. If the offensive failed, he said, voice grim, the only viable route connecting the Underhive to the Lower Hive was to be destroyed. Gray stiffened. His fists clenched. Who the hell issued this order? he demanded. This was a trap! Someone wanted us all dead! My family is in the Upper Hive, Klein replied, shaking his head. As far as I know, the plan was devised and executed solely by the Lord Marshal himself. A heavy silence settled over the room. The worst-case scenario isnt that were the only ones left, another officer muttered. Its that the entire Hive City has already fallen. That is a possibility. Gray looked like he wanted to punch something. By the Emperor, how the hell did our intelligence fail badly?! Enough. Qin Mo raised a hand. The room quieted. The most important thing right now isnt figuring out who screwed up. Its figuring out how we survive. We can deal with those idiots we make it out of here. Gray exhaled through gritted teethbut nodded. Qin Mo turned back to Klein. Did High Command issue any strategic orders? Maps? Defensive layouts? Anything? Without hesitation, Klein pulled a data-slate from his belt and handed it over. Qin Mo activated it. A tactical map flickered to life, displaying stronghold positions across the Underhive. Tiny red sigils marked destroyed zones. Green ones blinked slowlystatus unknown. 70 kilometers east C A fortress held by two regiments. 50 kilometers west C A bunker complex held by four regiments. Beyond that? All fortifications were at least 100C200 kilometers away. As he analyzed the map, a realization struck him. Before crossing into this cursed universe, he had never truly grasped the scale of a Hive City. But now, he did. If we want to survive, Qin Mo said, tracing his fingers across the map, The first step is to hold the line. We need to identify which defensive positions are still intact. If too many have fallen, we retreat and reestablish a defensive perimeter. If enough still hold, we dig in, fortify, and make this hell ours. Klein narrowed his eyes. And why should we keep defending? Do you really think reinforcements are coming? No. Qin Mos voice was firm. There are no reinforcements. Silence. Then whats the point? Qin Mo smirked. Because if you give me enough time, I can make every soldier here ten times stronger. Kleins gaze flickered toward Gray and the other 44th survivors. Each of them carried metallic backpacks. Strange, experimental tech. If that was Qin Mos doing Then maybejust maybehis claim wasnt baseless. Klein exhaled. Alright. He straightened. Ill follow your lead. .... Qin Mo pointed at the eastern stronghold on the map. Ill head there firstto confirm if anyones still alive. But before that, he said, we need to reinforce our defenses. He turned to Klein. Firstthis building is unreliable. Its only a matter of time before it collapses. We need to expand it, make it fortress-sized, and dig underground bunkers. Secondwe dont have enough heavy weapons. We need more Heavy Stubbers, fixed meltaguns, and barricades. Every window should be reduced to firing slits or observation holes. And then Sorry to interrupt. Klein raised a hand. But we no longer have a logistics division. No engineers, no convoys to transport heavy weaponsjust the men in this room. Qin Mo smirked. It doesnt matter. He stood up, towering over Klein. Ill handle it. Then, he turned to the assembled soldiers. Now, get your men to scavenge. I need metal and electronic components. If you cant find electronics, get me copper and rubber." You actually think you can do this? Qin Mos smirk widened. I dont I can. I I can. Klein hesitated for a momentthen nodded, half in doubt, half in belief. Chapter 10: The Power of the C’tan That afternoon, while the soldiers scoured the ruins for metal and electronic components, Qin Mo had already begun his work. The transformation of the fortress was nothing short of miraculousor heretical, depending on who was watching. Gray had seen Qin Mos abilities before. But this? This was beyond anything he had witnessed. Within a 100-meter square radius, the once-rigid metal flooring of the Underhive softened like molten wax, reshaped by an unseen force. Under Qin Mos silent command, the alloy stretched, fused, and wove itself together, merging seamlessly with the buildings frame. The ground beneath his feet caved, deep pits forming as though the Hive itself obeyed his will. Section by section, a simple hab-block was reforged into an ironclad bastion of war. Five stories tall. Walls reinforced with thirty centimeters of solidified adamantium alloy. Metal rods hung in midair before embedding themselves into the structureinterlocking into latticed layers of support, akin to the ferrocrete foundations of a mighty Imperial fortress. Firing slits materialized, each positioned with calculated precisionf or maximum crossfire coverage. Some faced forward, others angled to create overlapping kill zones. By the time the final reinforcements settled, the entire structure had become a kill-boxevery corridor a gauntlet, every entrance a choke point of death. Klein, watching this architectural nightmare unfold, felt a cold shudder crawl down his spine. How are we supposed to enter or exit? Qin Mo answered without a word. The main entrance was no longer a simple doorway. It had become a fortified tunnel, a deadly bottleneck designed to funnel enemies into oblivion. Invaders would be forced to descend a steep incline before scrambling up a staircaseexposed and vulnerable to intersecting arcs of lasfire and heavy bolter emplacements. If, by some miracle, they survived that? They would face a labyrinthine passageway lined with murder-holes, flamers, and auto-turrets primed to reduce flesh and ceramite to charred ruin. It was an attackers worst nightmare. Walls impervious to standard explosives. Vehicles too large to traverse the incline. Infantry funneled into a slaughterhouse of overlapping kill zones. Klein exhaled, struggling to mask his awe. Give me a flamer and a meltagun, and I could hold this place for a yearagainst an enemy force a hundred times our size. Then, a more practical concern surfaced. But what about supplies? How do we get food and ammo inside? Qin Mo raised a hand. Part of the wall folded inward, forming a seamless doorway. Klein blinked. Then nodded. I see. .... With the surface fortifications complete, Qin Mo turned his attention below. Digging too deep was out of the questionGenestealers lurked in the depths, and the last thing they needed was to unearth a nest of Tyranid horrors. Instead, the underground sector was designed for controlled accessa central bunker, reinforced and shielded, with a single, heavily defended entrance accessible only from inside the fortress. Klein watched in silence as tunnels carved themselves into the ferrocrete, entire sections of the Hive reshaping at Qin Mos whim. His breath came unsteady. This This is power beyond mortal comprehension. He swallowed hard. Psykers are terrifying, but by the Emperor, theyre damn useful. .... Im not a psyker. mutterd Qin Mo to himself For the longest time, he had assumed he was some kind of psyker. He had dismissed his visions, his knowledge, his instincts as aberrations of the immaterium. But now? Now, the evidence was irrefutable. Psyker-suppressing collars had no effect on him. Neuro-parasites that feasted on Warp-sensitive minds ignored him. Imperial anti-Warp measures failed to register his existence. Which meant His power did not stem from the Warp. Instead, his mind drifted back to the visionsthose impossible memories that surfaced when he was on the brink of death. There was only one possible explanation. The Ctan. .... The Ctanthe Star Godswere beings older than any civilization in the galaxy. They had once fed upon the energy of stars, drinking their essence across the aeons. They were divine horrors, bound to the material plane, their power anathema to both the Warp and the Imperiums fragile understanding of the universe. They could forge black holes at will. They could create entire planets from nothing. They could bend the fabric of physics to their whim. Their abilities bore resemblance to Warp sorcery, but they were something far more alien. Far more terrifying. They could alter matter on a fundamental level. They could reshape objects with nothing but thought. Qin Mo exhaled. He was 80% certain his abilities originated from one of the Ctan. But which one? And more importantlywhy? .... I need to start weapons manufacturing. Qin Mos voice was resolute. When the scavengers return, have them bring everything to me. He offered no further explanation. There was no time for questions. There was too much to doand not enough time. Even though he now had command authority over the 47th Infantry Regiment, he wasnt planning to bring many soldiers on his recon mission. His first priority was to arm Grays squadensuring that the fortress had an elite garrison before he left. The strategy was simple. Six-man recon teams would scout nearby strongholds stealthily and quickly. For that, they needed high-mobility equipment. Not vehiclestoo loud. Too obvious. No, it had to be personal. Integrated. The answer was clear. Jump Packs. Each Gravity Shield would be integrated into a Jump Pack, granting: Flight.Mobility.Integrated storage. As for weaponry? They had to be built directly into the armor. Energy weapons were idealkinetic rounds couldnt penetrate Gravity Shields. Kinetic weapons would be secondary, until Gravity Shield technology was improved. Thus, the optimal loadout became clear: Jump Packs with integrated Gravity Shields.Power Armor, optimized for energy weaponry.Equipment designed for high-speed skirmishes. One issue remainedpower consumption. Qin Mos solution? A high-capacity energy cell, capable of thermal recharging. If energy reserves ran lowthe entire squad would regroup. Then, using his Ctan-gifted abilities, Qin Mo would manipulate realitymaking fire non-lethal. Flamers would become mobile recharging stations. .... Beyond infantry warfare, Qin Mo had bigger plans. Drones. Combat Drones: Armed with kinetic or energy weapons.Medical Drones: Capable of emergency field treatment.Recon Drones: Designed for scouting and surveillance.Shield Drones: Mobile cover platforms. Thenfortress defense. That was simple. Flamers. Meltaguns. Heavy Stubbers. Mass-produced. Sarch* The N??elFir.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His unnatural knowledge allowed him to perfectly replicate any Imperial weapon from memory alone. Before, when he thought he was a psyker, he feared creating too much. If these machines were ever tainted by the Warp But now? Now, knowing he wasnt Warp-touched, he had no reason to hesitate. Of course, if the Inquisition ever found out Qin Mo sighed. Thatd be a problem for future me. Suddenly, Qin Mo realized something. Genestealers had psykers among them. Developing anti-psyker technology was now a priority. His first step? Reverse-engineering Psyker Suppression Collars into full-scale Anti-Psyker Emitters. Chapter 11: Crushed Like an Insect After four straight days of relentless research and fabrication, Qin Mos work finally bore fruit. Across the fortress, soldiers hauled newly assembled heavy weapons into position, reinforcing firing slits and barricades with freshly forged meltaguns, flamers, and auto-turrets. The fortress, once a mere hab-block, now stood as an unbreakable bulwark against the Underhives horrors. But Qin Mo had no intention of lingering. Turning to Gray and his squad of five, he ordered them to suit up in their newly crafted power armor. Without hesitation, the team followed him toward the fortress exit, setting off toward the eastern strongholdthe next battlefield. "Waitshouldn''t we test these suits first?" Kleins voice rang with concern as he hurried after them. Qin Mo didnt break stride. "No need." The six-man team moved swiftly through the twisting corridors, their footsteps heavy with the weight of ceramite plating. Klein followed, flanked by a squad of handpicked elite troopers from the 47th Infantry Regiment. Klein scowled. "I really think we should slow downat least run some tests before throwing these into battle." "Well test them in combat." "...Fine, fine. Battle-testing it is." Seeing Qin Mos absolute confidence, Klein reluctantly dropped the subjectbut a deeper concern gnawed at him. "Grays squad are just ordinary soldiers. The 44th Regiment was a logistics and supply divisiontheyve barely seen real combat. Are you sure you only want to take them?" Klein shot Gray a skeptical glance, then subtly motioned for his own elite troops to step forward. Qin Mo immediately rejected the idea. "Grays team may not be the strongest, but they are the most resolute." Sar?h the novlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Theyve fought alongside me. They know my combat style." Klein exhaled sharply. He didnt like itbut he couldnt argue. Once again, he reluctantly accepted Qin Mos decision, coming to a halt as he watched them approach the fortress exit. Then, at the last second, he shouted: "Dont engage the rebels head-on! Were badly outnumbered!" Qin Mo didnt replyhe simply stepped outside, and the fortress doors sealed shut behind him. Klein sighed in frustration, shaking his head. Then, mere moments later, the wall slid open againrevealing Qin Mo standing there. "One more thing." Klein blinked. "What?" "In my room, theres a Psyker Suppression Devicea square metal box. If you encounter an enemy psyker, activate it immediately." "But that thing needs to be recharged. Each activation only lasts two days." Kleins brows furrowed. "Understood. Ill assign a five-man team specifically to guard and operate the device." Qin Mo nodded. "Good." Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. The wall resealed seamlessly, as if it had never been there. .... The new power armorintegrated with Gravity Shields and Jump Packsallowed for short bursts of flight. Covering 70 kilometers in just two hours, the squad only paused once to recharge their power cells. As they neared their destination, Qin Mo issued an order. "Land here. We proceed on foot." With a synchronized hiss of thrusters disengaging, the squad touched down two kilometers away from the stronghold. Without hesitation, Gray deployed a recon drone. The mechanical servo-eye ascended into the smoke-choked sky, its lenses scanning the battlefield below. "Is the stronghold still standing?" Qin Mo glanced at Gray, waiting for an answer. But Gray didnt respond. His helmet visor was locked forward, his expression blank. His HUD display fed him a live tactical feed from the drones cameras. All he could see was smoke. Thick, impenetrable clouds of ash and burning promethium obscured everything. "Use the bio-scanner," Qin Mo reminded him. "Thats one of the drones functions." Gray snapped out of his daze. "Right." Issuing a command, he activated bio-signature detection. Immediately, the HUD overlay adjustedhighlighting all detected lifeforms in glowing green markers. A numerical feed populated the bottom-left corner of his display. Human forces detected: 5,723. Rebel forces detected: 9,938. Analysis: At the current rate of attrition, estimated time until the complete annihilation of friendly forces: 1 hour, 21 minutes. () Gray exhaled sharply. "The stronghold is still holding but not for much longer." He swiped his hand through the holographic HUD, mumbling: "Didnt you say these suits could share tactical data? How do I do that again?" Qin Mo sighed. "Extend your hand. Imagine the HUD is floating in front of you. Tap Combat Mode in the lower-left corner. That will force-enable data sharing." To an average grunt, Qin Mos customized electronic systems were too advanced. Tactical analysis. Suit monitoring. Shared battlefield intelligence. All designed for strategic coordination. But manual input was requiredvoice commands were too risky, and changing combat stances needed careful precision. For Gray and the others, this extra complexity was . Gray grumbled. "Done." With Combat Mode enabled, all battlefield data was instantly shared across the squads HUDsproviding real-time intelligence on enemy and friendly positions. .... On paper, the numbers werent completely hopeless. But the rebels held a decisive advantage. The reason? Aberrants. Genestealer Aberrantshulking, mutated hybrids wielding industrial tools as weapons. They werent intelligent. They didnt need to be. Each one was a living battering ram, capable of tearing apart armored vehicles with nothing but brute strength. Whenever they charged, the rebels deployed smoke canisters, forcing the PDF forces into chaotic close-quarters combat. Thats when Qin Mos squad arrived. Even before touching the ground, the thrust from their Jump Packs blasted the battlefield smoke away. For a brief moment, both PDF and rebel forces frozeall eyes locked onto the six armored figures who had descended from the sky. Then, realization set in. The rebels saw the double-headed eagle emblazoned on their chestplates. These were not allies. An uneasy silence fell over the battlefield. Then, an Aberrant stepped forward. Towering over three meters tall, its deformed claws clenched the severed head of a human officer. It locked eyes with Qin Mo. It growled, voice thick with inhuman hatred. "DIE" Qin Mo turned to Gray. Gray nodded. "For the Emperor!" Engaging his Jump Pack, Gray surged forwardhis Gravity Shield flaring to life. The Aberrant lunged, raising its massive hammer There were only two possible outcomes: The Aberrant''s brute strength would win, crushing the power armor and the man inside.The power armors superior technology would win, smashing the Aberrant aside like a ragdoll. It never reached him. The instant it touched the Gravity Shields field, its entire body implodedflesh, bone, and muscle compressed into paste. A split-second later, Grays thrusters re-engaged, sending him barreling forwardunhindered. Chapter 12: Hold the Line, Hold the Line! The rebels concentrated their fire on GreyHeavy Stubber lasers, lasguns, solid projectile weaponseverything they had, they unleashed. But none of it could touch Grey. Kinetic rounds disintegrated mid-air, shredded by the grav-shield. Las-bolts struck the energy plating of his power armor, only to be deflected harmlessly away, scattering in wild, useless arcs. "For the Emperor!" Qin Mo raised his force staff and chainsword high, charging into the heart of the mutant horde. "Engage! For the Emperor!" A Planetary Defense Force officer leaped out of the trench, roaring orders at his troops. The chaotic melee that had briefly halted due to Qin Mos sudden arrival now resumed with full intensity. The battlefield was a whirlwind of violencea perfect environment for Qin Mo, Grey, and anyone else clad in power armor. Tactics? Unnecessary. All that was required was a relentless advance, grav-shield deployed, and let the twin-linked lascannons mounted on each hand sweep across the battlefield in a storm of fire. Even if some heretics charged forward clutching explosives or wielding rusted bayonets, it didnt matter. The grav-shield would stop them cold. Even the most devastating energy weaponsthe one thing that could potentially overwhelm the grav-shieldcouldnt penetrate power armor. Sar?h the Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The armors joints were reinforced with shield generators designed specifically to counter las-weapons, generating an energy plating over the armors surface that deflected incoming fire with minimal power consumption. The only true weakness of power armor was its extreme energy consumption. In full combat mode, with all systems engaged, it could only sustain an hour of continuous battle. But the heretics didnt know that. And even if they did, it wouldnt matterbecause in a fight where the numbers werent overwhelmingly stacked against them, few enemies would survive long enough to see that hour pass. "Disable the energy plating on the armordivert all power to the weapon systems! Full firepower!" Grey sprinted to Qin Mos side, covering him as they advanced while relaying orders to the power armor''s control system. As soon as the HUD displayed the deactivation of the energy plating, the weapon systems surged to their maximum power output. In the power armor designed by Qin Mo, energy distribution was fully customizable. He could funnel all power to the grav-shield, expanding its range, or pour everything into the weapon systems, increasing rate of fire and destructive capability. Now, Greys grav-shield overlapped with Qin Mos, forming a near-impenetrable bulwark. Grey focused on eliminating enemy infantry, cutting them down before they could get close, while Qin Mo dedicated himself to surgically striking down the abominations with his reality bending abilities. "For the Emperor! For the Emperor!" Grey kept his gaze locked ahead, his armors onboard targeting system marking every enemy in his field of vision. His twin-linked lascannons blazed, sweeping across the enemy ranks until the targeting markers disappearedonly then did he shift to the next group. Unsurprisingly, the two of them became the focal point of enemy fire. But the grav-shields intercepted every solid projectile effortlessly. The occasional las-shot that landed merely left scorch marks on the armor. And whenever that happened, Grey would immediately pivot, unleashing suppressive fire in the direction of the attack. Some heretics even brought in heavy Multi-Lasershell, some even dragged out anti-armor cannons. But it was useless. The moment they fired, they drew Greys unrelenting wrath. "I am the Emperors wrath! Die, you heretical scum!" Grey roared, exhilarated. He felt unstoppable, invincible. The heretics before him, helpless against the grav-shield, were nothing more than insects. .... Qin Mo, after reducing another mutant to a charred husk, glanced toward Grey. He couldnt see the expression under the helmet, but he didnt need to. He already knew. It wasnt just Grey. Every soldier wearing power armor was experiencing the same thingmen who once had to cower in cover, whispering prayers to the Emperor that the next bullet wouldnt have their name on it, now stood unchallenged, carving through enemy ranks like a force of nature. Grey and the others needed time to adjust. Qin Mo, however, the creator of this power armor, felt nothing. No pride. No exhilaration. It still wasnt enough. Not efficient enough. He had always pursued one ultimate goalnot a single piece of technology, not a single weapon, but a guiding principle: To ensure that when soldiers entered the battlefield, they would kill the maximum number of enemies in the shortest possible time with the fewest possible losses. Qin Mo split his attentionmost of his focus remained on analyzing and refining his ideas, while a fraction of his mind continued dispatching enemies. Until the last mutant was reduced to charred remains, and the remaining heretic forces lost all morale, breaking ranks and fleeing in desperation. "The Emperor protects! Victory is ours!" Grey lifted his arms in triumph, twin-linked lascannons still crackling from continuous discharge. "Yeah. We won." Qin Mo said flatly, turning away to observe the remaining friendly forces. Two officersregimental commandersstepped forward. One look at the Aquila-staff in Qin Mos hand and the power armor he wore, and they knewwhether noble-born or elite warrior, this man outranked them. "Honor to you, Lord." Both officers snapped to attention, executing the Aquila salute. The surviving soldiers followed suit. "The Emperor guided me here to reinforce you." Qin Mo accepted their reverence without hesitation. He would use it to deliver words that would reinforce their morale. Because sometimes, a lie was far more valuable than the truth. For these men, struggling to survive in the hellscape of the underhive, believing that the Emperor had personally watched over them was the strongest possible motivator. And they had no way to prove otherwise. After all, how else could they explain how, at their moment of greatest desperation, six warriors descended from the sky and slaughtered the enemy with godlike efficiency? "The Emperor watches over us" "Glory to the Emperor! Glory to the Master of Mankind!" The soldiers gazed upward, as if the twisted, pipe-riddled darkness above them were instead an open sky filled with the light of the stars. Watching their joy, Grey scratched at the side of his helmet, then turned to Qin Mo. Qin Mo, sensing the look, turned as well and shrugged. "Desperate times You understand." Grey gave a slow, silent nod. "Ahem." Qin Mo cleared his throat, drawing all attention back to him. Reaching into the storage module of his jump pack, he retrieved a communications device. "This is an integrated psyker-suppressing comms unit. Use it to stay in contact. If you encounter a psyker, get this as close to them as possible." "Your generosity is boundless, my Lord." One of the officers reached out to receive the device. "What are your orders?" "Hold the line." Qin Mo commanded. "With all due respect, Lord, if we remain here, and the heretics launch another attack while you are elsewhere we will be doomed." "Hold the line." Qin Mo repeated, voice firm. "Understood." The officer nodded. "I dont expect you to stand here like idiots and get annihilated." Qin Mo stepped forward, selecting a relatively intact section of the battlefield. "Watch." With a single motion, he activated his greatest ability. Before the eyes of the stunned soldiers, a fortress materialized at impossible speed. His mastery over his Power had only grown sharpernow, his range of material manipulation had quadrupled, accelerating the fortress''s construction exponentially. "Hold this position. If the situation becomes dire, use the comm unit to call for me. I will arrive within a day. If I dontthen continue holding. This ground must not fall, no matter the cost. Hold. The. Line." "You will only hear of this positions fall when every last man of the 87th and 31st has returned to the Golden Throne." The officers gaze was unwavering, his grip tightening around his chainsword. Chapter 13: The Psyker Hearing the officers resolute response, Qin Mo nodded in satisfaction. He turned, preparing to lead Grey and the others toward the next battlefield when "Wait!" A voice rang out. A single soldier stepped forward, his hands trembling, his face pale but defiant. Qin Mo slowly turned his head, his expression unreadable behind the warplate. What is it? The soldier hesitated. But then, with gritted teeth, he forced out the question that haunted them all. Does holding the line here actually mean anything? Silence fell over the trenches. Every pair of eyes turned toward Qin Mo. They had all thought it. This fool had merely been braveor desperateenough to voice it. After all, the original offensive plan was in ruins. The men still manning the trenches werent staying out of courage or loyalty. They simply had nowhere else to go. Qin Mo nodded. Of course it does. The longer you hold this position, the more time I have to assess the situation on the other fronts. Then, I will regroup all remaining forces, we will purge the underhive of heretics, and we will march out of here victorious. On the surface, a sound strategy. But even the most optimistic fool could tell the latter half of his statement was a lie. No one truly believed they would all leave the underhive alive. But what other choice did they have? Hope was the only currency left. Muttering rippled through the trenches. How the hell did we end up in this mess? Emperor, tell us Who came up with this offensive plan? Were we just pawns in some nobles schemes up in the spire? Resentment was building. The officers noticedtheir hands instinctively went for their sidearms. The standard Imperial response to insubordination: execution. But before they could draw, Qin Mo raised a hand. They froze. He simply stood there, watching. Silent. Unmoved. He understood something they did notmen were not servitors. Carbon-based lifeforms had limits. These soldiers were at the breaking point. If force was used now, they would shatter completely. They werent refusing to hold the line. They were cursing the incompetence of High Command. The idiocy of the hives ruling class. They were just venting. As the outbursts died down, Qin Mo finally spoke. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Are you done whining? The trench fell silent. Cold eyes swept over them. Then get back to the fortress and fortify your defenses. His voice was iron. Even if our chances of cutting our way out of the underhive and kicking the Governors teeth in are less than one in a thousand we have to try. No rousing speeches. No false promises. Just one undeniable truth: Fight. Or die. The soldiers didnt cheer. But they moved. They trudged back toward the fortress. Their faces were ashen, hollow. Yet somewhere, deep within, they still clung to the faintest hopethat they might survive. That one day, they would settle the score. The officers exchanged grateful glances with Qin Mo before following their men inside. With that settled, he and Grey moved out. .... Amid the ruins of a collapsed hab-block, a small squad had taken refuge in one of the few intact structures. But Qin Mo wasnt resting. He was using his flames to recharge power cells. Grey, likewise, remained awake, deploying drones to scout the next defensive position. "Are you sure theres supposed to be an outpost here?" Greys helmet tilted slightly as he examined the empty landscape. "Why wouldnt there be?" Qin Mo replied without looking up. "Because it doesnt exist." Grey frowned. "Ive scanned this area multiple times. Nothing." He had used the drones bio-signature scanners over and over, sweeping different locationsbut the designated outpost simply wasnt there. Nothing. The underhive was an endless expanse of darkness. Searching with visual feeds alone would take forever. Still no readings? Qin Mo paused his work, finally looking up. Switch to thermal imaging. How do I Use your voice. Qin Mo didnt even glance at him. "I installed voice recognition in the armor precisely so people like you wouldnt fumble with controls." Grey sighed. Fine. Fine. Thermal imaging mode. The drones made another pass. .... This time, they found it. The missing outpost was right where the map indicateddeep in the heart of an old gang stronghold. Four regiments stationed here, huh? Through the drones feed, Grey observed the scene. No combat. No desperate last stand. Just order. Soldiers were reinforcing fortifications, setting up kill-zones, strengthening defenses. Lets move. Qin Mo stood and started walking toward the outpost. Arent we bringing the others? Qin Mo didnt answer. Grey glanced back at their resting comrades then at the sentry drones hovering overhead. Satisfied they were safe, he followed. .... The outpost was a large plaza surrounded by towering hive spires. Once, this had been a black market. A hub of illicit trade, smuggling, and human misery. Now, it was a fortified bastion of the Planetary Defense Force. The defenders barely looked up when Qin Mo and Grey landed. The moment they saw power armor, they lost interest. There was work to be done. Civilians were among them. Not warriors. Yet they helpedhauling heavy weapons, reinforcing barricades, mending armor. This was not a broken army. This was a disciplined force, well-prepared and unwavering. Look at this Grey nudged Qin Mo, gesturing to their left. Two soldiers were tending to a civilian who had lost both legs. One held a bowl of food. The other, a canteen. Everything was methodical. Efficient. A female officer hurried toward them, excitement in her eyes. "Are are you part of the Lord Marshals bodyguard?" she asked eagerly. "No, were just regular soldiers. Not part of the Lord Marshals retinue." Grey replied. The womans face visibly fell. "I thought the Lord Marshal had sent his forces. I thought we were saved" She hesitated, then asked, "Are you here seeking refuge? Regardless, we need more hands. Youre welcome to join us." Grey turned to Qin Mo, expecting an answer. But Qin Mo didnt respond. Silence. His gaze swept across the outpost, and something within him twisted. A feeling. Something off. Something wrong. An overwhelming revulsion. Like a man with severe OCD stepping into a filth-ridden latrine. His gut twisted. His mind screamed. I want to build an incendiary bomb. His voice was tight. Teeth grinding. Big enough to burn this entire cesspit to the ground. Greys eyes widened. An unprovoked, irrational desire for destruction? Only one thing could explain that. Psyker corruption. Are you I AM NOT OUT OF CONTROL! Qin Mo snapped. Flames licked at the seams of his armor. His faceplate glowed white-hot. Metal warping. Molten slag dripped from his helmet. Greys blood ran cold. This wasnt normal overheating. He was about to unleash fire. And yet There was no enemy in sight. This place is lost Qin Mos voice crackled with heat. Flames spat from his mouth. His gauntlet rosefinger leveled at the officer in front of them. Shes one of them. His voice was an inferno. Shes a PSYKER! Chapter 14: I Am Human There was no time for questions. Greys instincts screamed danger. Without hesitation, he engaged his jump pack, twin jets of fire roaring to life, launching him into the sky. He ascended one hundred meters in an instant, servos compensating for the sudden thrust, stabilizing into a hover as his visor scanned the battlefield below. Even at this height, the acrid stench of burning promethium and scorched flesh clawed at his senses through the olfactory filters. Something was very, very wrong. The defenders had realized it too. Some fled in blind panic, scrambling over debris in their desperation. Others, the more disciplined or the hopelessly fanatic whirled, weapons snapping up, fingers tightening on triggers. Their target? Qin Mo. It was a pointless effort. The world ignited. A blinding detonation erupted from the ground, so intense that Greys visual sensors overloaded, his HUD flickering into static before his armors auto-cogitator began emergency recalibration. Then came the shockwave. A deafening explosion ripped through the outpost, consuming nearly one-third of the fortifications in an infernal blast. Grey had never seen destruction on this scale. Qin Mo wasnt just using his power. He was enraged. And his rage had amplified his destructive potential to terrifying levels. What the hell is wrong with you?! Greys voice thundered over the comms. I already told you, this place is compromised! Qin Mos voice was calm, but cold. That female officer was a heretic psyker. Everyone here is a traitor. Impossible! Qin Mo said nothing. A long, uncomfortable silence crackled through the vox-link. Then An unseen force yanked Grey out of the sky. Hard. He plummeted. Before he could react, he slammed into the ground, ceramite plating scraping against stonecrete, his armors kinetic dampeners barely absorbing the impact. Grey grunted, rolling to his feet in a battle stance. His glare locked onto Qin Mo. The man stood motionless amidst the smoldering ruin, the raging inferno licking at his armor. And yet, his warplate was unscathed. Scarred, yes. But not destroyed. The same unnatural energy that had obliterated the outpost had shielded him. Qin Mo wordlessly pointed. Look. Grey followed his gaze. A charred corpse. The remains of the female officer who had greeted them so warmly. Or at least, what was left of her. Her uniform was gone, her flesh blackened beyond recognition. And her head Grotesquely elongated. Not merely mutated. Warped. Twisted beyond anything human. A monstrous cranium, swollen and malformed, as if her very essence had been sculpted by the unnatural influence of the Immaterium. Her skull, now cracked and jutting at alien angles, mocked the sacred symbol Grey wore over his heart. Not the grim reminder of mortality it should have been, but a perversion. It was not merely grotesque. It was blasphemous. A desecration of the very image the Imperium held sacred. In the Imperium, the skull was not merely iconography, it was truth. It was duty. It was sacrifice. A relic of the Emperors eternal vigilance and the fragility of flesh in the face of the divine. This thing had dared to wear a human face, but its skull bore only heresy. Greys stomach churned. His gauntlet clenched into a fist, then smashed the abominations skull into fragments. You see now? Qin Mo asked. Grey exhaled sharply. I still dont fully understand. He flexed his fingers. But youve never been wrong before. No more arguing. No more hesitation. His armors combat protocols engaged. The twin-linked lasguns on his gauntlets hummed to life. Survivors emerged from the inferno. Grey raised his weaponsbut then hesitated. At first glance, they were human. They wore the armor of the Planetary Defense Force. But something was off. Some drooled mindlessly, their eyes unfocused. Others moved in perfect, unnatural synchronization, their weapons raised in eerie unison. Puppets. Controlled. And suddenly, Qin Mo understood. The revulsion he had felt upon entering the outpost. The hatred burning in his veins. It was them. A powerful psyker, maybe more than one was here. And every normal human in this outpost was their puppet. .... Grey fired first. A burst of lasfire lanced into the nearest heretic, vaporizing both flesh and ceramite in a blinding flash. More figures shambled forward. Greys voice cracked over the vox. Do we fight, or do we retreat? Qin Mos decision was made before the question finished echoing. We fight. He exhaled slowly. Anger burned inside him. But he did not allow it to consume him. Not blind fury. Not reckless destruction. Instead, he let it sharpen, forging it into a weapon. And in that clarity, he sensed it. The source. 700 meters ahead. One figure. One soldier within the encroaching ranks. A single mind directing the others like puppets on invisible strings. Qin Mos head snapped forward, his visor locking onto the target. A female soldier. She hesitated, only for a fraction of a second. But that was enough. She hadnt expected to be discovered. Her disguise had failed. Her expression twisted into something vicious. Grey noticed immediately. Thats her? Qin Mos voice crackled with static. Cover me. Grey followed, his laser cannons spewing death, cutting down any who tried to intercept them. Sarch* The n?vel_Fire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Qin Mos power armor servos roared as he built momentum, pushing forward with relentless speed. A hundred meters. Thenhe jumped. His jump pack flared, sending him soaring through the battlefield. Grey followed suit, matching his trajectory. They landed with a crash, gravity shields activating just before impact. The sheer force created a shockwave that sent dust and debris outward, crushing the enemies nearest to them into bloody pulp beneath powered boots. The psykers terror intensified. She barked orders to her enthralled soldiers, forcing them forward in a desperate attempt to buy herself time. But Qin Mo was already moving. "Kill her." Grey understood immediately. They divergedone left, one rightencircling her from two angles. Grey pushed his armors energy output to the limit, redirecting core power to reinforce his gravity shield and amplify his reactive plating. Then, suddenlypain. An alien whisper slithered into his mind, cold and slick like oil, coiling around his thoughts. ?"For the Emperor For the Cult of Evolution! For our Savior!"? Grey collapsed, thrashing violently, his limbs seizing as the foreign presence rooted itself deeper, turning his muscles against him. His voice was no longer his own. Qin Mo didnt look back. He had expected this. The psykers influence had begun corrupting Greys mind. Qin Mo had spent too much time designing psychic inhibitors when what he truly needed was personalized defensegear that would nullify mind-affecting attacks rather than simply dampen a psykers influence in an area. The inhibitors hadnt activated yethe was still outside their effective radius. But that didnt matter. He was already at full speed. His jump pack ignited again, a vortex of fire blasting from his back. The psyker turned, panic in her eyes, and launched a psychic assault. It did nothing. "Impossible!" she shrieked. Qin Mo closed the distance in an instant. With a single motion, he deactivated his gravity shield. His chainsword ignited, its jagged, adamantium teeth spinning with a scream, ripping into the psykers flesh. Thenhe reactivated the inhibitor. Every soldier under her control convulsed. Some screamed. Others fired wildly, their minds unraveling as their masters will faltered. The psyker gasped, her body half-severed, yet her lips curled into a twisted smile. Her violet irises darkened, and a deeper, older presence emerged through her. Her voice, now laced with an eerie resonance, spoke. ?"What are you?"? Qin Mos grip tightened. His voice was low, but unwavering. "Im just a human." The psykers mouth opened to scream. But the flame-wreathed teeth of the chainsword tore through her skull, silencing her forever. Chapter 15: Think Bigger "What just happened to me?" Greys voice crackled over the vox, laced with confusion. His breath was uneven, his body still tingling from whatever had taken hold of him moments ago. A moment of lost control. A force he couldnt see, couldnt fight. Something "Just the usual warp trickery. What else?" Qin Mo replied dismissively, already turning back to engage the remaining heretics. There were still heretics left to exterminate. Regaining his composure, Grey jumped back into the fight, standing shoulder to shoulder with Qin Mo, bolter fire still echoing in his ears. No time for doubts. Together, the two annihilated the remaining thousand-strong heretic force stationed at the outpost. It was not a battle. It was a slaughter. When the last enemy fell, Grey slumped onto the ground, catching his breath. "You know" He exhaled. "Compared to that firestorm you just unleashed this power armor feels kind of weak." Qin Mo didnt respond. He simply stood there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the charred battlefield. Grey frowned. "Whats wrong?" Qin Mo lifted his head, his voice calm but firm. "The heretics have marked me." Grey immediately sat upright. His tone turned serious. "Thats bad." By now, nearly ten thousand Imperial defenders across two key outposts had survived only because of Qin Mos intervention. And countless more were still struggling elsewhere, awaiting reinforcement. If the heretics had singled him out, they would throw everything they had into eliminating him. No cost too high. No method too extreme. Grey exhaled sharply. For a moment, he said nothing. Qin Mo. What? Then, he removed his helmet. And locked eyes with Qin Mo. His expression was unwavering. "I believe that every life has a different value. And yours is worth more than all of ours combined. If I have to lay down my life for you, just say the word." Qin Mo chuckled softly. Then, he turned away. "Youre already doing that." Grey stood up, following. "Shouldnt you hide? Find somewhere the heretics cant reach you? Qin Mo shook his head. No hesitation. "I dont need to hide, nor will I. Let them come. Every assassin, every warband, every sorcerer. The more they focus on me, the fewer enemies our allies have to face. And that increases their chances of survival before we arrive to reinforce them." Grey stared at Qin Mos back, silent. Then, Qin Mo turnedissuing their next order. "Were regrouping with the other four, then heading back to the 47th Regiments stronghold." Greys eyebrow arched. "Were not searching for more outposts?" That was my original plan, Qin Mo admitted. Find them, establish communications, build up a resistance network. But now... Qin Mo shook his head. "That approach is wrong." They walked, boots crushing ash and bone as Qin Mo explaining his revised strategy. "Our first priority is logistics. We need a stable supply chain and enough weapons before we do anything else. Then, we need proper reconnaissance equipment. We cant keep running around blind, picking directions at random. We need an intelligence network, a map of every allied force in the hive, their locations, their status. Only then can we move effectively. And last, we need to upgrade our existing equipment." Grey scratched his head. Most of what Qin Mo said went over his head. But one thing stood out. "Wait. Our weapons arent strong enough?" "Not even close." Qin Mo glanced over his shoulder. "You need to think bigger. What we have now? These toys? Theyre nothing." Grey scoffed. "Toys? This power armor? This grav-shield? You designed this yourself! Youre being too humble." This armor was priceless. The grav-shield alone could buy someone a noble title in some Imperial worlds. Yet Qin Mo dismissed it like a childs plaything. Qin Mo stopped. He placed a hand on Greys shoulder. "Trust me, brother. When I complete my masterpiecewhen you see what Im truly capable of Youll realize just how weak and inefficient our current gear really is." Grey chuckled. Then he saw the look in Qin Mos eyes. A look without doubt. Without hesitation. Not arrogance. Certainty. The laughter died. Youre not joking, are you? .... Qin Mo did not rush from outpost to outpost. Instead, he returned to the 47th Regiments fortress. There, he dug deep into the ground, carving out an underground facility. Thenhe locked himself inside. In his absence, the heretics did not attack. But the moment he returned They launched a massive assault. Fierce. Unrelenting. The fortress held. Qin Mo did not lift a finger. He ignored the battle entirely. He had more important things to do. To save time and resources, Qin Mo designed a universal logistics drone. A ten-meter-wide, black, spherical machine. Anti-grav engines. Multiple articulated arms. Capable of operating in any environment. Their function? To scavenge anything useful. To gather resources, process materials, and repurpose themselves into mobile manufacturing units. These logistics units would be governed by a central AI core that could: Plan resource collection based on battlefield demand.Convert select units into mobile manufacturing stations.Adjust the number of logistics units as needed. The Adeptus Mechanicus would call this an abomination. The Imperium would call this heresy. A violation of the highest order. Heretek. Blasphemy. Damnation. But Qin Mo did not care. Not because he sought to defy the Imperium. But because he knew his AI would never turn against him. Its fundamental physics and logic were warped by Necron-tier technology. Star God-derived laws of reality. It would not function under normal conditions. And if anyone tried to corrupt it Through warp sorcery. Through chaos code. Through any means The galaxy would learn a valuable lesson. If you think youre the dumbest being in existence, and you enjoy making terrible decisions Just remember: Someone once tried to corrupt an AI powered by Star God technology. It didnt end well. Once these drones were deployed, Imperial logistics would be fully automated. Once the first prototype was built, the system would self-sustain. The same AI wouldnt just handle logistics. It would control reconnaissance operations. Qin Mo designed an array of reconnaissance assets: Sarch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Stealth drones.Surveillance probes.Psyker detectors. These tools would provide real-time Intelligence of: Terrain.Enemy and allied troop positions.Supply caches and resource depots. With this network in place, his forces would always be one step ahead. Once the logistics and intelligence framework was complete, he moved on to his real passion. This was what truly excited him. Not just new weapons. But a whole new paradigm of war. A new military doctrine, built from the ground up. Something beyond the Imperiums rigid doctrines. A vision of total battlefield dominance. And when he was done The battlefield would never be the same again. Chapter 16: The Masterpiece Qin Mo had overhauled the power armor. The old battery system was obsolete. In its place stood a revolutionary energy engine, a self-sustaining power source capable of not only storing immense energy but slowly regenerating it in the heat of battle. It wasnt warp-based sorcery. It wasnt reliant on xenos biomatter, exotic materials or arcane voidcraft technology. Instead, it drew from the battlefield itself. The engine absorbed ambient energy from its surroundings, the lingering heat from lasgun discharges, the residual energy from enemy plasma blasts. Everything was fuel. The old energy plating was discarded. In its place? A capture field, integrated directly into the grav-shield. The new grav-shield had two primary functions: Kinetic Neutralization C Bullets, shrapnel, even tank rounds collapsed under their own momentum, as if striking an invisible ocean of crushing gravity. Energy Absorption C The field siphoned the force of las and plasma weaponry, redirecting it into the energy engine to fuel the armor. Now, the enemys own firepower no longer drained the wearer. It strengthened them. The old rotary lascannons were obsolete. In their place? Multi-Laser. A high-output energy weapon that compressed multiple las-beams into a single devastating burst. It retained the high rate of fire of its predecessor but delivered unparalleled lethality at point-blank range. For close combat? The battlefield had changed. And so had the weapons. Every suit was now equipped with a gravity hammer. Encased in a gravitational distortion field, even the slightest swing could turn a target into a fine red mist. But even these weapons were merely secondary. The true firepower came from the shoulder cannon. A weapon of adaptation and devastation. It could shift between multiple configurations: Mortar Mode C Launches a superheated energy sphere, detonating 100 meters above the battlefield, creating a plasma downpour. Heavy Cannon Mode C Long-range, high-velocity destruction, punching through fortifications and armor columns alike. Gauss Accelerator Mode C A hypercharged kinetic round, tearing through dozens of targets in a single shot. Missile Launcher Mode C A self-guided nightmare, tracking its prey with precision beyond mortal comprehension. No physical ammunition. No supply limitations. Only pure, ceaseless devastation. And yet Despite these advancements Qin Mo was unsatisfied. Even with this power, it still wasnt enough. His vision? Power-armored warriors. Alone. Ending a battle. Not as soldiers. As demigods of war. To achieve that, he designed a new drone fleet. .... These werent ordinary drones. They were larger. Smarter. Specialized. Energy Drones C Linked to the energy engine, ensuring unlimited operational time in battle. Fire Support Drones C Heavily armed autonomous units, equipped with devastating energy weaponry, raining destruction from above. Transport Drones C Capable of deploying troops anywhere on the battlefield at breakneck speed. With this new doctrine, warfare was redefined. Only three power-armored warriors needed to be deployed. They would arrive via transport drones, striking where no Imperial allies were present. Then, the fire support drones would saturate the battlefieldwith long-range bombardments. Armor. Fortifications. Enemy formations. All obliterated before close combat was even required. Speed. Precision. Overwhelming dominance. This was Qin Mos masterpiece. The pinnacle of warfare. sea??h th NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But even this vision had a flaw. The cost was astronomical. Some components were impossible to manufacture without Necron-tier technology. And Qin Mo? He had no intention of stopping. After three days of design work, followed by four days of constructing the AI-controlled logistics drones and three prototype armor sets, Qin Mo decided it was time for a field test. The opportunity came swiftly. A Call for Reinforcement The 47th Regiments eastern outpost received a transmission. Another Imperial force had made contact. Their stronghold90 kilometers eastwas under siege. They needed reinforcements. Immediately. Qin Mo did not hesitate. .... The Imperial defenders had been pushed to their last refuge. A bunker. The outpost was lost. The heretics swarmed the area, hurling grenades into the bunker at regular intervals. Each time, the defenders threw them back. When they couldnt Someone dove onto the grenade. Numbers dwindled. Minute by minute. .... Then After thirty minutes of desperation, the eternal darkness above the underhive was pierced by two glowing spheres. They descended like miniature suns, burning golden and hissing through the polluted sky as they illuminated the battlefield below. The orbs exploded mid-air, detonating a hundred meters above the heretic line, brilliant flashes turning night into day. And then the lasstorm began. A monsoon of pure light. Beams rained down. Searing flesh. Bone. Armor. Crimson and white-hot streaks carved through the chaos, reducing fortified positions to slag and heretics to ash. Before the smoke had even cleared A deep, mechanical hum filled the air. Anti-grav engines whined. A transport drone descended through the haze, its bulky frame shimmering with energy fields as it hovered above the battlefield. Its bay doors opened. Three figures descended. They landed with a resounding crash, impact shockwaves cracking the ground beneath them. Qin Mo had arrived. With him stood Grey and an old veteran named Grot, a towering man with short brown hair. An oath-bound warrior, one of the surviving Six of the 44th Infantry Regiment. A man who had pledged to fight at Qin Mos side until the end of all things. They all wielded gravity hammers. But Qin Mo? His Aquila staff remained unchanged. It had become his symbol. "The Staff!" "Its him, the one the Emperor has sent!" Inside the bunker, morale ignited. The stories had spread. The west had been saved by the warrior who carried the staff. "Call in the fire support drones," Qin Mo ordered. "Were wiping them out." Grey and Grot did not hesitate. Two massive anti-grav drones roared into the air Equal in size to Valkyrie dropships. Their weapons deployed. A deadly array of Las-cannons. Plasma launchers. Rotary chainguns. They opened fire. The battlefield erupted with explosions and disintegrating bodies. Heretics disintegrated. Fortifications shattered. "Grey, maximize enemy casualties." "Grot, eliminate that abomination." Qin Mo pointed at the mutant monstrosity looming over the battlefield among the heretics. "For the Emperor!" Grot roared. His jump pack ignited, launching him forward. Heretics were crushed beneath his grav-shield, reduced to pulp beneath its expanding kinetic barrier. He slammed into the abomination at full force. It shrieked "SAAAHHH!" Lashing out with hooked limbs and steel tendrils But Grot deactivated his grav-shield and swung his hammer. The gravitational distortion field of the hammer struck the abominations skull directly. There was a moment of silence. Then a wet crunch, like rock shattering underwater. The abomination collapsed. Its skull crushed. Its body spasmed, then lay still. Qin Mo exhaled. "Sigh" This wasnt the plan. They had new tactics now. But even in this new age of warfare The power-armored troops still fought the old way. Grey, however, understood the new combat doctrine. He had listened to Qin Mos explanations while delivering meals during development. Instead of rushing in, he summoned an energy drone. The drone linked to his power armor, ensuring temporally unlimited firepower. He raised his right arm. His laser scattergun unleashed a storm of light, cutting a swath through the enemy lines. His shoulder cannon launched three projectiles in quick succession. Each detonated mid-air, releasing clouds of las-shrapnel over a wide radius. There was no cover. It didnt matter if the heretics were behind barricades or out in the open. They all burned the same. Even the scorched metal ground beneath them bubbled and warped, as it melted. The battlefield belonged to them now. And this... was only the beginning. Chapter 17: Synthetic Meat Qin Mo didnt participate in the battle. Not even once. Grot moved like a specter through the war-torn streets, his integrated Multi-Laser scything through the cultists in searing bursts of light. The modified scatter-shot mode turned every discharge into an area-denial weapon, each shot devastatingly efficient in the cramped confines of the underhive. Grey, meanwhile, fully utilizing his shoulder cannon, was raining death from above. His HUD flickered with real-time battlefield data, the top-down drone feed marking every hostile in glowing red runes. His shoulder cannon was linked to the recon drones, their machine-precision calculating ballistic trajectories, movement vectors, and projected blast radii. Each shot landed perfectly. The heretics never stood a chance. When their lines finally broke, when their fanaticism failed them and they turned to flee, the battle was already over. Grey and Grot returned to Qin Mos side. The three of them walked toward the bunker, the shattered corpses of the enemy cooling behind them. Inside, the Imperial survivors watched in reverence. Slowly, they stepped forward. One by one, they knelt, their eyes fixed on the Aquila staff in Qin Mos grip. A sigil of the Imperium. A symbol of salvation. .... Who is your ranking officer? Qin Mo asked as he walked. A man stepped forward, wearing the same rank insignia as Klein. He knelt. "That would be me, Lord." Qin Mo glanced down at him. "Your current force is only 472 menfar too few. This position is not worth holding. Abandon it immediately and move west to regroup with the main force." The officer hesitated but nodded. "Understood." His expression betrayed his surprise. He hadnt even finished counting his survivors, yet Qin Mo already knew the exact number. But there was no time for awe. The order was carried out immediately The soldiers gathered their weapons and supplies, assembling for departure. The less than 500 survivors assembled for departure. But nearly half were wounded. Some were carried on stretchers, others leaned on their comrades, their armor cracked, their bodies failing. Expecting them to march 70 kilometers was impossible. Qin Mo summoned the transport drones, allowing the wounded to board first. Seeing this act of care, the officer hesitated. Then, finally, he spoke. "Are you the Lord-General? Does our defensive line still hold?" Qin Mo hadnt intended to answer. But when he saw their expectant gazes, he relented. "I do not know if the old defenses still stand. But I am establishing a new defensive line. We have two fortresses." The soldiers paled in despair. "Two?" That wasnt enough. Qin Mo had intended to bolster morale, but before he could A deep, droning noise filled the air. Everyone looked up. From the sky, five black spheres descended. They halted half a meter above the ground. Mechanical arms extended. They began scavenging the battlefield, collecting anything useful. Recognizing them as his logistics drones, Qin Mo paid them no mind. He turned back to the soldiers. "Brothers! Loyal sons of the Emperor, we" "Grrrhh RRRHHH!" A low, gurgling growl. Qin Mo stopped speaking. Nearby, a mutant abomination staggered back to its feet. Its chest was riddled with holes. And yetit refused to die. It dragged a rusted pickaxe, its beady, corrupted eyes locked onto Qin Mo. One of the logistics drones detected the threat. It retracted its salvaging arms. Thenextended them again. This time, holding a blade. One swift stroke. The mutant was beheaded. The drone retrieved the corpse. Qin Mo turned back to the soldiers. "No need for alarm. These are our machines." The troops nodded hesitantly. They refocused on him. sea??h th N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Now, my brothers! The Emperor" Wait. A thought struck him. Why did the drone collect the mutants corpse? He opened a direct channel to the AI core. "Why are you salvaging mutant corpses? Dont tell me its for food." The AI responded immediately. ["Based on my analysis, heretic corpses can be repurposed. After undergoing multiple purification processes, they become completely non-toxic. They can be converted into nutritional supplements without side effects."] Qin Mo stared blankly. "...I You know what? Never mind." Resources were scarce. If that mutant abomination ended up processed into nutrient paste Well. Theyd just have to hold their noses and eat. .... The drones didnt just collect enemy corpses. They retrieved fallen Imperial soldiers. A drone paused in front of the officer. The officer flinched. "Im still alive!" For a moment, he thought the machine was about to recycle him too. The drone did not respond. Instead, a hatch opened on its outer shell. A small, square object ejected from the compartment, landing in his hands. It bore the engraved face of the fallen soldier. Below it, an inscription: "Memorial Ash Block C Fallen Hero of the Underhive." The officer froze. Qin Mo heard the AIs voice again. ["Humans have a tradition of honoring the dead."] The drones continued their work. When they finished, they lifted off, heading for their next objective. .... "We will follow your orders, Lord." The officer secured the memorial blocks. Then, he saluted. "We will move west to regroup with our allies." "Good." Qin Mo handed him a Vox device. "If you encounter trouble, use this to call me. The channel is already set. If you encounter psykers, throw it at them. It has a built-in nullification field." The officer bowed. "Thank you." Then, the survivors departed. Once they were gone, Qin Mo gave his next order to the AI. Prioritize intelligence gathering on other Imperial positions. [Acknowledged. Recon drones are already under construction.] .... The logistics drones returned, dropping crates of food before departing again. Moments later Deafening cheers erupted across the fortress. Qin Mo, who had been crafting the fourth suit of power armor, emerged from his underground workshop. "Whats all the noise about?" Klein grinned. He held a food container, spearing a piece of meat with a fork. This stuff is amazing. Qin Mo glanced at the meal. Solid synthetic meat. He sighed. That better not be the mutant. Does it taste good? Klein nodded vigorously. Then, as if suddenly suspicious, he clutched the container protectively. Grey already brought you a portion. Youre not getting mine. Qin Mo chuckled. Relax. I dont want it. As they spoke, Grey arrived, carrying two additional food boxes. He handed one to Qin Mo. Thenwithout a wordhe placed his own portion in Kleins hands. Klein stared. Are you insane? Grey said nothing, turning and walking away. Qin Mo smiled. Then, without hesitation, he placed his own food container into Kleins arms. Enjoy your feast. With that, he turned and returned to his workshop. Klein watched him leave. He sat there, silent, staring at the three rations in his hands. Chapter 18: The Underhive’s civilians Qin Mo worked tirelessly. His hands hovered above the workbench, assembling the sixth power armor suit with inhuman precision. Metal plates levitated into place, servos and actuators fused seamlessly, while the armors core hummed with contained energy. At the same time, a spoon drifted from a ration pack to his mouth, guided by telekinesis. He chewed thoughtfully. For two days, he had avoided this synthetic food, assuming it was something unnatural. He had been wrong. It was surprisingly good. And as he ate, he understood exactly how it had been produced. All biological remnants recovered from the battlefield whether fallen enemies, or the mutant horrors lurking in the Underhive were collected. Then, the logistics drones, operating under the AI Cores directive, purified the remains, extracting nutritional value and biomass. The resulting material was tasteless at first. But the drones had learned. Using safe chemical agents, they replicated flavor compounds, ensuring a palatable, nutritious, and completely harmless food source. .... A calm, mechanical voice filled Qin Mos comms. [Based on collected data from three logistics units, this food maintains a 100% approval rating among active troops. Over 70% report enhanced physical strength and accelerated wound recovery following consumption. These findings have been uploaded to the data core for further optimization of the supply chain.] It was a routine report. The AI functioned autonomously, but Qin Mo still monitored its actions. He swallowed another bite. What about the intelligence network? he asked, already expecting the next data stream. [All completed reconnaissance drones have been deployed. We have confirmed the existence of 42 remaining defensive positions. 18 are under heavy attack.3 are on the verge of collapse. Including the defenders at this fortress, total surviving Imperial personnel within the Underhive number 357,231. If reinforcements are required, I will calculate the optimal deployment strategy.] Qin Mo paused mid-bite. Three hundred and fifty-seven thousand? That number was impossible. According to Kleins previous reports, before the situation had deteriorated, the Lord Marshal had only allocated 50,000 men to establish a defensive line. So where did the extra 300,000 people come from? [There is a civilian settlement within the Underhivedesignated Kato.] The AI answered before he could voice the question. Qin Mo nodded slowly in realization. "That explains it." He placed his helmet on. The visor sealed with a sharp, pressurized hiss, drowning his face in the blue glow of internal systems. "Calculate the best reinforcement plan." His HUD flickered to life, rendering a detailed 3D topographic map in shifting tones of gray and blue. The remaining defensive positions were color-coded: Green C Relatively stable.Orange C Under siege but holding.Red C Critically endangered, low manpower. A route snaked through the red zones, highlighted in pulsating light the shortest path to reach and support every besieged stronghold. [Two of the three high-risk positions can be stabilized using fire support drones. However, the settlement of Kato1,000 kilometers west requires your direct intervention. I request authorization to deploy fire support drones.] "Granted." Qin Mo nodded. Immediately, four fire support drones lifted off from the 47th Regiments fortress, thrusters roaring as they accelerated toward the besieged Imperial positions. "I should move out as well." Qin Mo stood, glancing at the newly completed sixth power armor suit. He felt hollow. This wasnt his masterpiece. Over the past weeks, he had realized something. He wasnt developing technology out of necessity. He loved creating. The thrill of solving complex engineering problems, of crafting the impossible, gave him satisfaction. But now? He was too efficient. What took other scientists decades, he completed in days. The challenge was gone. He hungered for something new. Something greater. The next great invention. And in that hunger, he understood The power he wielded came from a Star God obsessed with creation. sea??h th n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But now wasnt the time to dwell on it. There was work to do. Qin Mo opened a voxs channel. Grey, fetch Grot. His armor is ready. Are we heading out? came the crackled reply. "Of course." Qin Mos visor glowed. "Were moving to reinforce the settlement of Kato." .... Kato wasnt a makeshift refuge. It was a functioning micro-city carved deep into the festering heart of the Underhive. Bounty hunters scavenged ancient relics from forgotten ruins. Gangs ran illicit manufacturing operations, producing weapons and contraband. Civilians labored, trading work for food and protection. Water was recycled from fungal reservoirs. Food came from corpse starch presses or mold farms cultivated in sewer caverns. Money meant nothinglabor, loyalty, and firepower were the only currencies. Here, survival wasnt a right. It was currency earned or stolen. Qin Mo had heard of Kato before. He had assumed it was already lost. But when he arrived He found 2,000 Planetary Defense Force (PDF) soldiers holding the main highway. "It''s him!" The PDF soldiers saw his Aquila staff. Morale surged. "Hold the line." Qin Mo ordered. He turned to a nearby trench officer. "I was informed you have 2,000 troops. But youre all concentrated here. Whos fighting in the rest of the city?" The officer opened his mouth to answer "VROOM!" An engine roared behind them. A vehicle rumbled forward, stopping beside Qin Mo. It was a utility truck, armored in scavenged plate steel and painted with crude devotional symbols to the Emperor, covered with a tarp. The driver, a civilian jumped out, followed by his wife and three children, each wearing makeshift armor patched with duct tape, scrap plating, and shattered ceramic tiles. Qin Mos visor glowed ominously. "This is a warzone. What are you doing here?" The man snorted, throwing a sideways glance at the entrenched PDF troops with open disdain. "Helping these useless bastards." He climbed onto the truck bed, boots thudding against corroded metal, and tore off the tarp. Underneath? A quad-barreled Heavy Stubber, its barrels already slick with oil and grime. His wife and children rushed forward, hands practiced and precise as they fed fresh ammunition belts into place. Within seconds, the man locked his stance, took aim And unleashed hell, the stubber barking thunder into the shadows, its recoil shaking the truck as brass casings clattered to the ferrocrete. His family wasnt idle. His wife and eldest son retrieved lasrifles, checking scopes before engaging targets. Even the smallest childbarely taller than her weaponexecuted precise headshots like a seasoned sniper. .... The officer sighed. "As you can see most of the fighting in the city is handled by the civilians." He gestured toward the skyline of Katorooftop nests, smoke-belching chimneys, and banners sewn from flak jackets fluttering in toxic wind. Qin Mo exhaled. So this was why Kato had endured. In the Underhive, those too weak to fight Had already been culled by their harsh reality. Truly, he muttered, the Underhive breeds the toughest bastards in the Imperium. And then, he joined the battle. Chapter 19: The Militia of Many Backgrounds "FOR KATO!" The man tightened his grip on the quad-barreled Heavy Stubber, unleashing a storm of lead into the densest clusters of heretics swarming through the rubble-strewn streets. The weapon roared like a caged beast, its rotating barrels glowing red with heat, brass casings spilling onto the blood-soaked concrete like spent prayers. Stray las-shots and solid projectile rounds slammed into the armored trucks hull, but he remained unshaken. His fury was unwavering, his eyes locked on the enemy. The sheer volume of fire ripped through walls, shattering enemy formations. An entire building, packed with heretics, collapsed, burying its occupants alive. That thing was built for anti-aircraft, wasnt it? Grey asked, nodding toward the monstrous weapon. Looks like it, Grot replied, shielding his face from the heat haze, but he must have modified it. No way it was designed for this. Qin Mo approached the man with purposeful strides, his heavy boots crunching over broken glass and shell casings. "You''re more useful elsewhere, " he said flatly. "Move, urban warfare needs your firepower." The man glanced at him, unimpressed. "Oh? And youre taking over this position?" Qin Mo didnt explain. Instead, he turned and fired his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon. A luminous sphere of volatile energy shot forward, detonating mid-air above a knot of heretics. The blast hung for a moment like a miniature sun, then collapsed inward with a crackling implosion. A storm of las-beams rained down. Everything inside the blast radius was vaporized. Got it. Understood. Without another word, the man ceased fire, leaped off the truck, and led his wife and children deeper into the city. Qin Mo turned to Grey. "You and the others, split up. Secure the city." Grey nodded, igniting his jump pack and soaring away. The other power-armored warriors followed, scattering into different districts like falling stars, each one a harbinger of death. .... Landing atop a high-rise, Grey scanned the battlefield through the polarized visor of his power armor, the HUD glowing faintly in the dim light. The city was a warzone. Ruined hab-blocks and shattered manufactoria clawed at the underhive sky like broken teeth, smoke rising between them in thick, choking plumes. Data-feeds flickered on his visor: ambient radiation levels climbing, power grids fluctuating, vox-traffic saturated with panic and dying screams. A brutal stalemate raged between heretics and the local militia. To Greys surprise, the equipment gap wasnt as wide as expected. Some militia fighters wore makeshift suits of powered armor, cobbled together from salvaged tech. Others wielded highly unorthodox weapons of uncertain origin. Grey watched as one such weapon fired. A golden beam lanced through the battlefield, instantly spearing through an enemy tank. Ignoring less critical skirmishes, Grey focused on enemy positions. His HUD tagged a heavy weapon nest within the building directly beneath him. The heretics inside were pinning down the militia, suppressing any attempt to advance. Grey activated his grav-shield. With a sharp hum and a sudden shift in pressure, the air around him shimmered. "CRACK!" The floor beneath him collapsed, sending him plummeting into the structure below. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He landed hard, plating buckling under the impact, right in the center of the heretic-occupied first floor. The heretics froze. Their hands still gripped artillery controls. Their expressions twisted into horror as if theyd seen death itself descend from the ceiling. Grey raised his right arm. Miniature energy spheres erupted in rapid succession. The entire room was engulfed in laser scatterfire. Bodies crumpled. Armor melted. The scream of flesh fusing to ceramite filled the chamber before silence reclaimed it. Grey swept his aim in a full rotation. The entire floor was cleansed of hostiles. Then, he moved. He approached the remaining heavy weapons, using his grav-shield to crush them into scrap. The machinery shrieked as it twisted, folding like tin under invisible force. "BOOM!" An artillery shell detonated outside, sending shrapnel through the windows. Grey snapped his gaze toward the blasts origin. His HUD zoomed in, overlaying thermal and structural scans. Through multiple layers of buildings, he identified the artillery crew700 meters away. Grey silently switched his shoulder cannon to Gauss mode. Then, he fired. The beam lanced through every obstacle in its path, reaching the distant enemy position. Walls vaporized, steel rebars split like bone, and heretic screams were cut off mid-syllable. The artillery emplacement and its crew were obliterated in an instant. As the cannon emplacement fell silent, a tank rumbled out from an alleyway. Its left armor panel bore a painted image of a woman striking a heroic pose, brandishing a rifle. From the turret hatch, a man with a bright red mohawk emerged. "OHHH YEAH! THANKS, BROTHER!" He shouted his gratitudeonly to immediately duck back inside when a nearby explosion sent debris flying. Trailing behind the tank, a motley crew of warriors followedmen and women, all with matching red mohawks. Greys eyes narrowed. "Bloodcrest Gangers?" he muttered, voice edged with suspicion. He had assumed all Underhive gangs had either joined the Traitors or been wiped out. Then, the tank commander reappeared, screaming into a Vox-bead. "STOP PUSHING FORWARD, YOU IDIOTS! THE CHAPEL''S ABOUT TO FALL! THE CHAPEL''S ABOUT TO FALL!" A panicked voice responded. "WHAT?! The chapel is the rear guard! How the hell is it in danger?!" "STOP ADVANCING! PULL BACK TO THE CHAPELNOW!" The gangers abruptly reversed course, sprinting toward the city''s center. Grey remained indifferent. He didnt trust Underhive gangs. To him, they were like wild dogsdangerous, unreliable, and liable to turn on you the moment your back was turned. Better to purge the city himself than rely on unpredictable allies. .... Grey charged down the street, cutting through Traitor fire. His Multi-Laser shrieked, shredding enemy infantry. His shoulder cannon boomed, obliterating fortifications. His grav-shield flared, crushing all solid rounds. Incoming Las-fire was absorbed, its energy converted into fuel. By the time he reached the districts edge, every heretic in his path was dead. Then, he remembered Qin Mos words. When I complete my masterpiece, and you see what it can do, youll realize how weak and inefficient your current weapons truly are. Grey paused. He had mocked that claim before. But now? Looking at the battlefield- Realizing how effortlessly he had wiped out an entire sector He understood. His previous power armor would have failed long ago. "The next district." Grey stepped over charred corpses. A cruel grin tugged at his lips. "Youve got ten minutes left to live, worms." .... With the power-armored warriors leading the charge, the urban skirmishes became an extermination. Entire blocks of traitors were wiped out. Entrenched enemy positions were reduced to rubble. The militia no longer needed to breach buildings every fortified structure, once a deadly maze of ambush points, was simply leveled. Fighting alongside these warriors meant they no longer needed to risk their lives carrying explosives into enemy fortifications. For the militia, the benefits were clear. Now, all they had to do was shout a warning And the entire structure would be blown apart in seconds. The drawback? The power-armored warriors werent from Kato. They didnt care about preserving the city. To them, a 1,000-year-old historical monument was just another bunker to demolish. .... Grey fought his way to the citys edge, where he met up with Grot and the others. Behind them, the militia forces regrouped. The Heretics fled in terror. But the lucky few who escaped didnt get far. A wall of fire roared across the wasteland, consuming everything in its path. None survived. Then Qin Mo descended from the sky. His Aquila staff dripped with blood. The two-headed eagle of the Imperium gleamed atop it, its wings spread in eternal vigilance. Behind him, the last defenders of Kato arrived. The entire citys remaining forces had gathered. "Praise the Emperor!" A PDF officer stepped forward, dropping to one knee before Qin Mos staff. Praise the Emperor! Praise His chosen warriors! The soldiers followed suit, kneeling in reverence. But the civilians, gangers, and bounty hunters knelt not before the staff They knelt before Qin Mo himself. Because they knew the truth. Without these reinforcements, they would have bled and died in the streets, unable to save their homes. Qin Mo surveyed the assembled warriors. Their ranks were diverse. Local Militia C a mix of civilian volunteers and remnants of the PDF, armed with hand-me-down rifles, patchwork flak vests, and more courage than training. Gangers C Underhive warriors from the shattered depths of the city, bloodied survivors of turf wars, clad in scavenged armor and wielding brutal, jury-rigged weapons. Bounty Hunters C mercenaries and contract killers, some ex-PDF, others worse, marked by long coats, scarred faces, and eyes that weighed every ally like a potential target. Men and women who, normally, wouldve killed each other over a ration chit now stood united beneath the Imperiums banner. A strange mix. Then, a bounty hunter spoke. No offense, Lord but did you have to turn half the city into ruins? Qin Mo turned away, striding toward the city center. This is War. Then, he made a promise. When this war is over, I will build a new city, one so grand that even the Spire Lords will envy it. New Kato shall be your reward. Chapter 20: Cold Logic As Qin Mo and his warriors moved through the ruined streets of Kato, they were flanked by both militia and PDF soldiers. More survivors emerged as they passed a bombed-out cathedral, refugees, gaunt and dust-covered, who had taken shelter inside. Most were wounded. Some limped, some were carried. All wore the same haunted look of people who had seen too much. But two figures stood out. One was a middle-aged man bearing the rank insignia of a Regimental Commander, a senior officer of the Planetary Defense Force. The other was a woman in an official uniform, an Arbites intelligence officer. Regimental Commander Laun of the Logistics Corps. The officer who had fought alongside Qin Mo earlier stepped forward to introduce them. And this is Riley, an agent of the Hives Arbites Division. Qin Mo wasnt surprised by Launs presence. The PDF had been scattered throughout the Underhive since the battle began. It made sense a commander might have survived especially one not on the front lines. But an Arbites officer? Here? The Adeptus Arbites rarely concerned themselves with the Underhive. Their domain was the execution of Imperial Law, not local disputes, let alone the lawless depths of a Hives underbelly. The Arbites were not simple enforcers; they were judge, jury, and executioner rolled into one, feared across the Imperium for their absolute authority and brutal efficiency. When the Arbites arrived, it meant someone, somewhere, had committed a crime so vast it was considered a threat to Imperial order itself. So what was Riley doing in this hellhole? Had the ruling elite of Tyrone Hive really deployed their enforcers this deep into the abyss? Laun stepped closer, eyeing Qin Mos power armor with open curiosity. Are you the Marshals honor guard? he asked. Ive never seen this pattern before. Were not part of the Marshals forces, Qin Mo said, shaking his head. Laun frowned. You arrived too late, soldier, he grumbled, irritation bleeding into his voice. By the Emperor, weve been fighting street to street for nearly a week! Where have you been? Grey, standing just behind Qin Mo, muttered under his breath. "By the Emperor, I almost thought this entire force was led by a mere Captain." His voice dripped with sarcasm. Imagine my surprise when our missing command structure finally reveals itself, hiding in a church like cowards. His meaning was clear. While everyone else had been fighting and dying in the streets, Laun and Riley had remained inside the cathedral. There had been no orders. No coordinated command. Each unit had fought alone. Blind. Leaderless. A disgrace. Launs expression darkened. For a moment, it seemed like he might lash out. But seeing the hostility in the surrounding troops eyes, he held his tongue and changed the subject. Are there any higher-ranking officers still alive? No, sir. Qin Mos reply was calm. Almost too calm. Indifferent. Grey was stunned. From the moment Laun had appeared, Qin Mo had acted completely naturally, as if he had no issue surrendering command. He even addressed Laun as "sir" without hesitation. It didnt make sense. What the hell was going on? Laun smirked. You came late, but you did well, soldier. He clapped a hand against Qin Mos armored shoulder, as if bestowing a reward. Seeing Qin Mos polite demeanor, Launs confidence grew. From now on, you will follow my orders. Understood? Yes, sir Qin Mo nodded, without hesitation. Grey clenched his fists. Launs next words were even more shameless. Now take me somewhere safe, he said. This lady and I require protection. He gestured toward Riley, who simply smiled at Qin Mo. That smile wasnt friendly. It was calculating, like a predator watching prey try to guess what kind of trap it had wandered into. It reminded Grey again who she was. An Arbites wasnt here to survive. She was here to judge. Understood. Qin Mo agreed without hesitation, then turned to Grey, signaling him to summon a transport drone. Grey wanted to punch him. He wanted to grab Qin Mo by the collar and shake him. Did he realize what he was doing?! He was handing over the army he had united through fire and blood. But Grey held himself back. He obeyed, but his movements were stiff, reluctant. He activated the vox-unit on his wrist and called in the drone. Even if he didnt understand, he had faith. .... Commander! At ease. Klein waved off the salutes of the corridor guards without slowing. His boots clanged against the steel decking, echoing like war drums through the dim corridor, each step measured, full of restrained fury. He marched into Qin Mos quarters without knocking. Qin Mo turned from his desk, setting aside a half-completed schematic etched with runes and tactical overlays. Klein raised a hand, cutting him off before he could speak. Do you even know what the man you brought back is doing? Qin Mo arched an eyebrow. Laun? What about him? Klein laughed bitterly. Hes been barking orders at my men. Demanding they clear out the largest room for him. Telling them to find him the best bed or commission a custom-made one, complete with silken hangings and heated coils. He narrowed his eyes. What were you thinking when you brought him here? Qin Mo snorted. He actually asked your men to make him a custom bed? Oh, hes not stupid, Klein snapped. Hes an Upper Hive noble. And nobles dont make stupid mistakes. They make power plays. They dont draw bladesthey draw boundaries. And this? He pointed angrily toward the corridor. This is him marking territory. This was the first time Klein had ever questioned Qin Mo. Because this time, he couldnt accept it. Do you understand what happens next? Kleins voice was low and serious. Your command will be stripped away. Your true rankjust a common soldierwill be exposed. And the defense line you built through blood and sweat? It will become someone elses. You will remain a mere soldier. Perhaps even lower ranked than me. "Why?" Qin Mo asked. Klein froze. What? "Why would my army become his?" Qin Mo repeated. "Can he conjure fire and lightning to slaughter his enemies? Can he forge weapons beyond Imperial understanding? Sarch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Does he possess the tactical mind to outmaneuver the heretics? Can he personally strike down enemy commanders?" Klein fell silent, words failing him. He had never thought about it that way. Qin Mo had built his own legend. Every soldier in the defensive line had either witnessed his power firsthand, or heard the stories. And more than that They believed they had been betrayed by the Upper Hive. They no longer trusted the high command. No amount of political maneuvering could change that. Unless Laun could bring something greater to the table His schemes were meaningless. Klein sighed, rubbing his head. Then why bring him here at all? Why not leave him in Kato? Qin Mo leaned back, glancing at the closed door. Satisfied, he spoke freely. I have a backup plan. We dig. We will clear the collapsed tunnels, reopening a path to the Lower Hive. Then, we use Laun and any other nobles we can find As bargaining chips. We negotiate with the high command for permission to evacuate back to the Lower Hive. Kleins eyes widened. Escape? Youre planning to run? I cant believe it. Qin Mos gaze hardened. This is a contingency plan. I will do everything to achieve victory. But if we fail, I will not sit and wait to die. Klein finally understood. He nodded. Should I detain him? No. Keep him close. Find out where his family is. If we must evacuate, it will be useful leverage. Klein left immediately. Qin Mo sat in silence. Everything he had said was a lie. If the attack on the Underhive was truly an Upper Hive conspiracy Then Launs noble status wouldnt save him. Qin Mo had no intention of bargaining. He just needed an excuse to get Laun alone. He turned back to the schematic, muttering to himself. Ill need to arrange an accident Chapter 21: Come With Me Meanwhile Grey patrolled the first floor of the fortress, his power armors servos humming with every step. His HUD pulsed with data, tactical overlays highlighting possible breach points, motion trackers scanning for activity, threat vectors calculated and updated in real time. If the heretics attacked tonight, they would find him waiting. He approached the largest chamber on the level, a cavernous room half-converted from a civilian auditorium into a makeshift command post. As he neared the reinforced doorway, a familiar smug voice called out to him. Grey turned. It was Laun. The regimental commander stood in the doorway, smiling. Got a moment to talk? Grey narrowed his eyes, his gut instinct lurching like something rotten had turned in his stomach. A reflex born in the underhive whispered: But then something crossed his mind. He hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded. I suppose I do. Laun gestured him inside, the heavy bolt-locked door sealing shut behind them with a resounding clang. Walking over to a small, scarred table, he uncorked a bottle and poured a glass of liquor. One for himself. One for Grey. What is this? Grey asked, gaze locked onto the drink, suspicion sharp in his voice. Just wine. Laun replied with a smiled, offering the cup with both gauntleted hands. Grey stared at the glass. The liquid inside was clear, unnaturally so. No hue, no sediment. He had seen black wine. He had seen rust-red amasec. He had even seen the orange rotgut that passed for celebratory drink in the lower hive. But clear wine? His instincts screamed caution. Ive never seen a drink like this before, he said, his voice low, probing. I didnt read much growing up so dont bother lying. Laun chuckled quietly but didnt answer. He simply waited. Grey raised the glass to his helmet, drawing in the aroma through its filtered vents. The aroma hit him instantly sweet, sharp, impossibly refined. For a heartbeat, his limbs tensed, expecting poison. Instead, his mind foggednot from toxin, but memory. Desire. It was exquisite. After a long, weighted pause, Grey unsealed his helmet. Then, in a single fluid gesture, he brought the glass to his lips and drank. The taste was a symphony of luxurycold and smooth at first, followed by notes he had no words for. It didnt burn. It didnt sting. It simply him. By the Emperor he muttered, voice trembling despite himself. What what in the Emperors name is this? The sheer luxury of the flavor startled him. He feared how much he liked it. He feared wanting more. Poor soul, Laun murmured, smiling as though watching a child taste real food for the first time. Its just wine, soldier. A simple fruit fermentation. A trivial indulgence." He leaned back in his chair. "But of course, to a gutterborn like you, it must taste like a dream. Then, he did something unthinkable. Laun handed him the rest of the bottle. Grey hesitated. For a moment, his mind raced through memories and the hard-edged lessons of the hive. Then Thank you, sir. He took the bottle with both hands, carefully storing it inside his jump pack as if it were a rare relic. Their conversation shifted in tone. Grey no longer glared. His hostility softened, if only slightly. Laun observed his reaction with the precision of a master manipulator. He had baited the hook. Now, it was time to reel him in. Did you know, Laun said casually, pouring himself another glass, the Governors cousins wife is my sister? Greys expression shifted. Then why are you here? Why would a noble like you be thrown into this mess? Launs smile didnt falter. The Marshal was to blame, he said, brushing the air dismissively. He misplayed his hand. Tried to outshine the High Command. He was reckless. He overextended. The Governor had nothing to do with it. He let the excuse hang. Then, smoothlyhe transitioned to his true proposition. When we get out of this mess Laun leaned forward slightly. I will personally recommend you for promotion. He let the words linger. A generals rank, no less. Grey stared, his eyes burning with a hunger that belied his conditioned stoicism beneath the helmet. A general? A noble? That was everything a lower-hive soldier could never dream of. If he accepted He could take his family. He could leave the filth of the lower hive behind. Forever. But you understand, of course. Launs voice softened, his words weaving an insidious net around Greys troubled thoughts. This is a transaction. A trade. You give something in return. Something meaningless to meyet vital to our shared moment. Greys fingers curled into a tight fist. What? Laun leaned in close. His eyes gleamed. Loyalty. Grey remained silent. He looked down, lost in thought. Laun wasnt troubled by the pause. He was a master manipulator. To him, Grey was simply an unrefined mind, bound by worthless relationships holding him back from making the logical choice. All he had to do was apply a little more pressure. No need to answer now, he said, voice confident and smiled knowingly. Tomorrow, I will visit the other defensive positions. I will introduce myself. I will make it clear to every soldier that a true commander has arrived. That commander is me. Grey remained mute. You should come with me. Laun finally made his move. Bring your armor. Bring the others. Stand at my side. Then, he waited. If Grey agreed Then he desired power. He might not be ready to betray Qin Mo just yet. But eventually, he would. Laun was sure of it. Grey slowly rose to his feet. He walked to the door. Laun sighed, a hint of disappointment in his measured tone. He thought Grey was going to reject him. But then Grey pushed the door open. He gestured outward with a measured firmness. I am a soldier. It is my duty to obey orders, sir. Laun smiled in triumph. Excellent, soldier! He strode into the corridor, hands clasped behind his back, his gait exuding the arrogance of one accustomed to command. The sheer arrogance in his stride was amplified by Grey walking behind him. Laun was pleased. He never noticed the sheer hatred hidden beneath Greys helmet. .... In her private quarters, Riley sat alone. Unlike Laun, she had been given a fully equipped suite, a leftover from the buildings pre-fortress days. She had locked the door securely. She had showered. The fortress still had running water. Not clean water, it reeked of chemical filtration. But in the Underhive? It was a luxury. Now, she lay on her narrow cot, replaying the days grim events in her mind like a broken holorecord. Then She remembered something. When Qin Mo removed his helmet, revealing his face... she had recognized him. Not as a savior. Not as a hero. But as someone she had seen before. As someone Dangerous. Her instincts screamed a warning like the klaxon of a malfunctioning servitor. She reached for her Arbites-issued dataslate, activating it with a code etched into her muscle memory. Her fingers danced swiftly through the labyrinthine legal archives. She searched for one name. Qin Mo. One result. [File: Prisoner 444] [Name: Qin Mo] [Crime: Unauthorized psyker activity. Attempted murder via warp-based abilities.]? A mugshot loaded onto the screen. It was him. Her blood ran cold. Prisoner 444 Her hands trembled. She had been there. She had helped capture him. And now, inexplicably, he was here. In uniform. Commanding forces. She bolted upright, hastily donning her uniform. Then, she rushed out into the dimly lit hall. She needed to warn Laun. She needed to tell him. Qin Mo was a psyker. A criminal. A monster. But as she burst into Launs chambers It was empty. Laun already left. A rumbling voice echoed behind her. It was Grot. The battle-worn, power-armoured veteran peered down at her with a mix of disdain and duty. If you have urgent business, report it to Qin Mo. Rileys throat constricted with dread. She tried to retreat. But another voice, smooth and chilling, whispered Why not tell Laun in person? She froze. She turned slowly. Qin Mo smileda smile both disarming and foreboding. He offered his hand. Sar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Come with me, miss. Chapter 22: “Killed in Action” At that moment, Laun still had no idea what was coming. He strode through the blasted ruins of the Underhive, a desolate maze of collapsed catwalks, twisted girders, and smoke-choked alleys. Grey silently following at his side as his appointed "escort". I thought I was done for. Laun exhaled, shaking his head as though to dispel the specter of his near demise. But to think someone actually managed to consolidate the defensive line Emperors blessings, indeed. Grey merely nodded, the servos of his power armor whining softly as they responded to his measured motion. Yes. Laun scoffed, eyeing the massive ceramite plating that encased his silent escort. sea??h th n??el Fire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. You must have fought for a long time to hold this forsaken place. That power armor you wearwas it unearthed from some ancient ruin? Again, the same terse reply. Yes. Laun chuckled, shaking his head in exasperated amusement. Hah. You lot are remarkably lucky. Grey gave no reaction beyond another simple confirmation. Yes. Laun chuckled, continuing his casual conversation. Grey walked beside him in silence. Listening. .... After trudging through the claustrophobic warrens of the hive for a long time, Launs impatience began to boil over. He halted abruptly, turning to face Grey. Why havent you called for a transport? He gestured toward the endless, winding tunnels ahead. How long do you reckon we must trudge through these corridors? A year? Yes. At that, Launs simmering patience finally snapped. Watch your tone, soldier. His voice sharpened to a razors edge. Grey merely nodded in deference. Yes. Then, with mechanical precision, he raised his arm and activated the vox-net, summoning a transport drone. In the distance, thrusters roared to life as the drone cut through the gloom, its arrival heralded by a burst of stuttering flame. Laun grunted. Hmph. Took you long enough. .... As they waited in the oppressive silence, Grey broke the quiet. Did you know? His tone was even and measured, yet a disquieting undercurrent lurked beneath the cadence that made Laun uneasy. Laun arched a brow. Know what? Grey tilted his head slightly, his gaze steely as he replied, Qin Mo is a prisoner. An unsanctioned psyker prisoner. The words, delivered with an eerie calm, sent a chill coursing down Launs spine. Laun nodded slowly, then froze. What? Grey pressed on, his tone unflinching. He isnt even a soldier. He was assigned to the 44th Regiment as a convict. Launs face drained of color, his mind reeling as he struggled to reconcile the impossible revelation. A psyker? A prisoner at the helm of an army? It defied every shred of logic the Imperium held sacred. Greys voice remained unnervingly even. This war has nothing to do with him. He was arrested simply because he refused to be hunted down like a feral mutant. So tell me, why should he fight for this wretched world? This crumbling Hive? Why should he fight for us? Why should we assume he wont turn around and side with the rebels instead? Dread crept into Launs bones. For the first time, Laun truly felt the crushing weight of Qin Mos enigmatic presence. A man who inspired fealty without the need for formal rank. A man with no rightful sanction to fight, yet who waged war as if driven by divine compulsion. A man whose latent power defied the cold logic of the Imperium. Laun couldnt fathom why Grey was divulging such secrets, but an insidious unease gnawed at his soul. Qin Mo protected us, Grey murmured, more to himself than to Laun. He led us in battle. Even when Grot cursed him for not lifting a damn finger to help build the fortifications Qin Mo bore no grudge. Even after the 44th Regiment was wiped out, Grot still received his power armor. There was no exclusion. No revenge. He paused, voice shaking. He ensured every beleaguered outpost received reinforcements. He resupplied those teetering on the brink of collapse. He fought everywhere, for everyone. Without recognition. Without rank. Without reason. Grey looked up as the transport drone descended. The torrent from its thrusters whipped up dust and ash, swirling around them like the restless ghosts of the fallen. With a single, fluid motion, Grey activated his jump pack, soaring onto the drones loading platform. He pivoted, unsealing his helmet to reveal a visage scarred by countless conflicts, and glared down at Laun with the cold, unyielding stare of the Emperors judgment. The turbulent air howled between them as the drone began its ascent, carrying him away from the ruinous gloom. Greys silvered hair whipped wildly in the gale, his eyes burning with an intensity reminiscent of the holy fires of the Astronomicana sight that churned Launs stomach with foreboding. Then, in a voice as final as an Imperial decree, he spoke. Remember my face. Remember that it was I who executed you. "Wait! Stop! We can discuss this!" Launs arms flung upward in a gesture of surrender, desperation bleeding into his voice. Theres no need to be hasty! We can negotiate But before his plea could be heeded, a beam of searing light erupted from Greys shoulder cannon, slicing through the darkness. In an instant, Laun was obliterated; his form dissolved into nothingness as the ground beneath him melted into a crimson, seething crater, the ferrocrete aglow with malevolent heat. Greys shoulder cannon whined as its thermal charge dissipated. He fired again. He unleashed salvo after salvoeach burst erasing every trace until no forensic analysis could ever determine what had claimed Launs life. Then, he raised his grav-hammer And struck his own arm. The impact shattering bone and ceramite in a gruesome symphony of destruction. Grey gritted his teeth, sealed his helmet, and ordered the drone to return. .... In the dimly lit briefing chamber of the Fortress, Klein sat across from Grey, arms folded and eyes inscrutable. A medic methodically wrapped Greys ruined arm in bandages as he recounted his grim tale. Klein listened in silence, his expression unreadable. Laun and I engaged an enemy patrol. I failed to activate my grav-shield in time. A renegade psyker seized control of my senses and a feral mutant shattered my gauntlet. If I hadnt triggered the built-in psyker suppressor, Id be dead. Klein leaned back, his eyes narrowing with measured appraisal, his voice as cold and unyielding. Be honest with me... Did you kill him? Grey offered no reply. Klein had seen this before. When a tight-knit unit was forced to accept an unworthy leader, That leader is often expunged from the annals as Killed in Action. Years ago, a friend from Kleins academy days was assigned to command a regiment; he lasted scarcely two weeks before the Emperor claimed him. The official report read simply, The Emperor willed him away. Greys helmet flickered, and a holo-recording projected onto the table. It depicted his clandestine meeting with Laun From the pouring of the ritual wine to the moment he volunteered to escort him. The recording abruptly cut off just before the final, fateful execution. Klein chuckled darkly. Traitor. He shook his head in disillusionment. If Laun hadnt perished, would you have allied with him? Grey remained silent. Klein sighed heavily and rose from his seat. Qin Mo is interrogating the Arbites officer in the next chamber. He strode to the door. Ill relay everything to him. Youd better steel yourself for his wrath. Grey lowered his head, deep in thought. .... In the adjacent chamber, Qin Mo faced Riley with a disarming calm. Riley was secured to a reinforced chair, but otherwise unharmed. Officially, her detention was justified on grounds of suspicion of being an enemy agent. In realityshe knew too much. Qin Mo smiled, a faint curl of his lips betraying amusement. You know I was a prisoner, dont you? His tone was almost playful, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. I remember you. You were there when they hauled me inand your clumsiness left quite the impression. Riley scowled, her expression hardening. So thats why you retrieved both me and Laun? Of course. Qin Mo casually picked up her data-slate, its screen flickering with encrypted commands. He planned to purge his criminal record directly from the Arbites archives. Before he could proceed, the door swung open. Klein entered, leaning in to whisper into Qin Mos ear as he conveyed every damning detail of Greys confession. Qin Mo nodded slowly, his inscrutable eyes revealing nothing. Psyker suppressors are designed to trigger automatically upon detecting warp disturbances, in turn activating the grav-shield A failsafe against sudden psychic onslaughts. So how could a mutant have ripped Greys arm off without triggering those defenses? The answer was simple. It never happened. But that was irrelevant. Grey had resolved the problem. That was all that mattered. ...I see. .... Riley saw an opening. She gambled. She shouted at Klein. Hes a criminal! A psyker! You cant trust him! Klein blinked, his features momentarily betraying feigned surprise. Youre a prisoner and a psyker? He grinned mischievously. For a moment, I thought youd declared him your long-lost father. Qin Mo sighed dryly. At this rate, she might as well claim she is the Emperor Himself. Both men laughed. Klein then exited the room, the heavy door clanging shut behind him. Riley swallowed hard. She was alone with the enigmatic prisoner. Chapter 23: A Hundred Ways "You Win." Riley leaned back in the cold, metal chair, its rigid frame biting into her spine. She exhaled a slow, resigned breath that misted faintly in the chill air. She had lost. Resistance was pointless. She had no leverage left. The steel walls around her were sterile, featureless, and humming with faint vox-static. Overhead, a single lumen flickered, casting long shadows across the interrogation chamber. Across from her, Qin Mo grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "As punishment, Ive decided to reassign you," he said, his tone mockingly light. "Youll be transferred to the next outpost... as a rifleman." Riley bolted upright, alarm flaring in her eyes. "You can''t punish me!" she declared firmly. "You need me alive. Dont you want me to delete your criminal records?" Sar?h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Qin Mo scoffed, a low, amused sound. "You?" His tone dripped with condescension. He plucked her data-slate from the table, its surface glowing dimly. With a subtle gesture, he linked it with his helmets neural link. Then, he gave a simple command. "Access Tyrone Hive''s Adeptus Arbites database. Make a hundred copies of my records. Then delete them a hundred different ways." [Acknowledged.] His AI responded immediately. [Duplicating records now] Wait, I was joking! Dont actually copy them! If this backfires, itll be a disaster! [Records deleted.] Qin Mo paused. He manually searched his own name. No results. Not a single trace. His entire criminal record had been expunged as though erased by the Emperors own hand. "...That was easier than I expected." he muttered, genuine surprise lacing his words. "Does the Arbites never upgrade their firewalls? I was planning to design a virus to infiltrate their systems offline. But this? This was too easy." Riley stared, horrified. The intricacies of Data security was a labyrinth beyond her ken. She only knew one thing. Her last bargaining chip was gone. "Your Name is Riley, Riley Weather, Correct?" Qin Mo typed into the console. Rileys eyes widened in terror as she realized his intent. NoNO! STOP! she screamed. "Delete her records." ["Acknowledged. Deletion complete."] Qin Mo turned the display toward her. Her name had vanished from the digital archives. She was now a ghost in the Arbites archivesa non-entity. Rileys expression twisted through a spectrum of emotions. First, shock. Then, rage. Then, grief. Then, despair. Then, rage again. And finally Confusion. She had no inkling of what fate awaited her now. Qin Mo smiled. "You will be implanted with the memories of a fallen soldier. Then, youll be sent to the battlefield." He paused, his tone shifting imperiously. "But for now, I have more important matters to handle." Rising from his seat, he strode to the door. Turning to the guard outside, a hulking figure in power armour, he issued a final order "Lock her up." Grot nodded. "Understood." He entered the room, while Qin Mo headed toward the briefing chamber. .... Grey lay on his cot, glaring at his newly severed arm. Across from him, Qin Mo sat hunched over a workbench bathed in the sterile glow of multiple holoscreens, each one displaying overlapping layers of schematics, energy flows, and bio-feedback graphs. In one hand, he sketched intricate designs; in the other, he manipulated holographic circuits with a precision that spoke of both brilliance and madness. He was utterly absorbed in his work. His goal? To craft an augmentation far superior to a mere organic limb. "Dont worry." Qin Mo murmured without looking up, his voice a blend of reassurance and clinical detachment. "Your new arm will be faster, stronger, and far more precise than your original." He tapped a schematic. "Im integrating a telekinetic module. You''ll be able to move objects remotely, or crush them with a mere thought. It responds directly to neural intent." He leaned in closer. "It will also feature a built-in psyker suppressor, powered directly by your own heart." Grey froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Wait, what? Youre wiring it to my heart? What if something goes wrong? Will this give me a heart attack?!" Qin Mo shrugged. "Theres a 1% chance of complications. But don''t worry, death isnt one of them. Trust my craftsmanship." "I have a bad feeling about this," Grey grumbled, his tone laced with apprehension. Qin Mo scoffed lightly. "Your original arm wasnt perfect either. Didnt your back ever ache? Didnt your joints ever fail you? Dont be a flesh-purist. Flesh is weak. Flesh is failure." Greys voice dropped, raw with memory. "My mother died of sickness. I understand better than anyone Flesh is fragile." "Then stop whining and hold still." Qin Mo began the surgery. Mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, each tipped with tools designed for bio-mechanical integration. Cool antiseptic mist hissed into the air. Using his abilities, he fused flesh and metal seamlessly. A sterile blue glow bathed the room as synaptic welders hummed to life. The new augment became one with Greys body. Tubes pulsed as blood vessels wove into synthetic circuits like creeping vines. Nerves linked with artificial synapses. Sparks danced for a moment, then faded. The transition was flawless. .... Grey sat up slowly. He flexed his new hand experimentally. Sleek black plating moved with uncanny grace, fingertips glowing faintly with sensory feedback nodes. Then, he tested it. A battered cup on a nearby crate floated gracefully across the room. With a thought, he pulled it into his grasp. "It feels real." Grey muttered in awe. "Even more than before." Qin Mo nodded approvingly. "Your arm can now detect vital signs with a mere touch. It can analyze toxins in the air, among countless other functions. It responds faster than thought. It adapts, predicts, compensates. Youll learn its full capabilities in time." A slow grin spread across Greys face. "This is better than my original arm. I wonder just how far you could push augmentation." Qin Mos eyes gleamed with a dangerous promise. "I could rebuild you on a cellular level. I could make you a living war machine." Grey chuckled "Thats tempting." Then, Silence. Qin Mo suddenly asked "Did you kill Laun?" Grey froze, caught off-guard He didnt know how to answer. If he denied it, Qin Mo might think he actually considered betraying him. If he admitted it, Qin Mo might resent him for acting prematurely. Qin Mo smirked. "You did well." Grey blinked, confused. "But next time don''t act before I do. I wanted to kill him even more than you did." Grey stared, then asked quietly. "Then why did you show him so much respect? Werent you trying to lure him out and finish him off yourself?" Qin Mo shook his head slowly. "Not everything must be solved immediately." He turned back to his workbench and resumed designing new weapons with a surgeons calm, as if the subject of murder had merely been a footnote. Grey peered over his shoulder at two schematics illuminated on a holo-display. One was a design for a new standard infantry weapon. The other A detection device of alien complexity. Grey could understand the rifle. But the other "Whats this for?" Qin Mo grinned, tapping the blueprint lightly. "Now that I control the defensive line, it''s time to go on the offensive. We will strike at the heart of the enemy." Grey interjected, "But we dont even know where their leader is." Qin Mos grin widened as he replied. "We will find him. This device will locate him." .... The leader of the Genestealer Cultsthe Patriarch. A monstrous, six-meter-tall xenos abomination, its grotesque frame rippling with alien muscle and chitinous armor. Its mind was the nexus of their entire Broodmind, an interconnected consciousness shared across the hybrid faithful, every drone, acolyte, and magus bound to the Patriarch like neurons to a brain. It was their origin. Their prophet. Their god. Qin Mos plan? Force the heretics into an all-out attack. Let them overextend. Force them to reveal the hidden tendrils of their psychic network. Then, using his device, he would trace the network back to the Patriarchs lair. And when he found it? He would throw everything he had at it. If the Patriarch could not be slain He would extract its blood. With that, he could craft a weapon to exterminate the entire cult. Grey smirked, his voice resonating with grim determination. "Whatever you need me to do. Wherever you need me to fight. I will go." Qin Mo nodded. "You will." Chapter 24: Speculation It had been a long interval since the last major assault on the defensive line. Since Qin Mos enigmatic arrival, the enemy had yet to commit to a full-scale attack. Despite the temporary lull, no soldier dared relax. Every man and woman remained in a state of constant vigilance, their nerves strung as taut as a power cable in the darkest reaches of the Hive. Every breath was taken with the knowledge that the next battle could be their last. .... Today was different. Regimental commanders Duncan Varr and Albert Halser, both clad in greatcoats caked with the ashen residue of promethium fires, stood at the edge of their Fortress. The air was thick with tension, the sky above painted in hues of smoke and machine exhaust. Alongside them, scores of battle-hardened soldiers watched with wary eyes as a parade of automated "servitors" moved methodically back and forth from the stronghold. These black, spherical constructsthe now-infamous logistics "servitors"had once delivered only food, water, and ammunition. But now? Now, they were transporting weapons. One of the drones hovered over the staging ground, its mechanical arms gripping a large, reinforced crate. With a mechanical hiss, the crate was lowered onto the ground. Then The drone began dismantling the crate itself, disassembling the container with surgical precision and recycling it into raw material on the spot. Inside lay a rack of modified lasguns, meticulously arranged and primed for rapid distribution. "Are these fitted with scopes?" One soldier rushed forward, eyes wide with anticipation. He clutched a rifle and inspected the modifications closely. Only one way to find out, he declared. A group of eager troopers advanced toward the firing range, where makeshift targets, cobbled together from scrap metal and discarded heretic gearawaited. Las-fire cracked through the air. And almost immediately The men fell silent, staring in disbelief. This wasnt merely a standard lasgun Its discharge was differentmore deliberate, more deadly. The rate of fire was blisteringly rapid, the power pack lasted far longer, and each shot was sharper and more refined, delivering impacts that were both visually and lethally devastating. And this was just the beginning. Ever since Qin Mo secured Kato City, a steady flow of new weapons had been arriving. What started as cautious shipments of sidearms had evolved into a torrent of advanced wargear. Over the next two weeks, the regiment had received a fully operational Leman Russ Battle Tank, several sets of Standard Praetorian-Pattern Power Armor. Automated aerial transports began to descend from orbit, ferrying supplies and personnel with eerie precision. Even more remarkable were the unmanned artillery platforms that followed. These new artillery pieces were perhaps the most intriguing. Suspended on anti-grav platforms, they lacked cockpits or operator seats. They functioned autonomously. No one manned them. Yet the moment they were deployed, they aligned in seamless formation, automatically synchronizing to form a devastating firing grid. It was precision without human error, discipline without command. .... "A Leman Russ?" Albert, once a tank officer, stared in awe. "By the Emperor but how?!" He gestured towards the parked behemoth, sitting alongside the unmanned artillery. The Underhives tunnels to the lower Hive were destroyed. Albert shook his head in disbelief. "So where did they build it?" A Leman Russ was a war machine mainly reserved for the Astra Militarum, also known as the Imperial Guard in colloquial Low Gothic. No ordinary Hive City possesses the industrial might to manufacture one, let alone an isolated, war-torn district. If Tyrone Hive had the ability to mass-produce Leman Russ tanks, the Imperium itself would have intervened long ago. .... Its like this Fortress. Duncan remarked, gesturing toward the reinforced stronghold raised overnight. "It must be another one of his ''miracles''." Ever since Qin Mo arrived, theyd witnessed wonders that defied explanation. A fortress, raised in minutes. Entire squads in power armor, appearing as if forged from thin air. Now? A Leman Russ Battle Tank, growling with fresh ignition, materializing from nowhere. Did you notice? Albert lowered his voice. The artillery is unmanned just like those black spheres. Duncan instantly knew what he meant. The Rumors. Ever since the "servitors" appeared, whispers had spread Claims that they werent just servitors. That they housed Abominable Intelligence. That they thought for themselves. Now? The sight of automated artillery reinforced those ominous rumors. "Maybe." Duncan sighed. "Needs must when the daemon drives," he rasped. His voice carried the weight of someone who had seen too many horrors, who had made peace with pragmatism. "We hold this line with machines, or we die clutching empty piety. Your choice." Albert nodded slowly. "True but still. Best not to ask too many questions." "Exactly. The God-Emperor sends tools, not explanations." And with that, the topic was laid to rest. .... Instead, their attention turned to a pressing question. What do you think this is all for? Albert finally asked. Sar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Duncans answer was immediate. "Hes forming a Mechanized Assault Regiment." A what? Duncan gestured toward the imposing Leman Russ. "Were just infantry. We lost most of our armor during that doomed offensive. This? This is him correcting that mistake." Albert processed the revelation and then nodded. "Yeah yeah, I see it now." A combined arms force. Leman Russ Tanks as anchors. Elite Power Armored troopers for breakthroughs. Unmanned artillery for bombardment. Precision. Durability. Speed. Firepower. A regiment capable of sustained, high-mobility warfare. A force designed for one thing. Offense. You think hes planning a counterattack? Albert blinked. Duncan nodded firmly. "What else would this be for? He didnt build all this just to sit and wait." Albert felt a surge of adrenaline. For months, they had been on the defensive. Hunkered down. Forced to endure. But now? Now, they were preparing to strike back. The very thought set his blood ablaze. But do we have the numbers? Albert hesitated. "Our forces are still thin." Duncan exhaled and stared at the scorched, battle-scarred ground beneath them. "Weve been caged animals, fighting for every scrap of life. If death is inevitable Why not take as many bastards down with us as we can? Maybe, just maybe, someone will remember our sacrifice." There was a grim finality in his tone. Albert looked down, deep in thought. And yet He agreed. Then we will burn like meteors. Duncan whispered. Brilliant, brief, but unforgettable. Albert blinked. "Whats a meteor?" Duncan chuckled. A celestial phenomenon. A streak of fire across the night sky, a final, fleeting blaze before vanishing into darkness. Albert nodded slowly Then, he grinned. "Ive never seen a sky before. But I imagine a heretic getting blasted by a tank shell looks pretty similar." Duncan laughed. Then, after a pause You know it works both ways. We could just as easily be the ones getting blown apart. This time, neither laughed. "Then we burn," Albert said softly, his voice steady, like a vow, "as martyrs must." Chapter 25: Fabrication Printing Technology During this time, Duncan had noticed a peculiar trendan unprecedented surge in the number of power armor suits being delivered by the logistics "servitors." The sheer volume was staggering, as though every single Planetary Defense Force (PDF) soldier under his command was expected to be issued one. Of course, such a notion was absurd. Even the Astra Militarum did not outfit common soldiers with power armor; such wargear was the domain of the Adeptus Astartes or elite Tempestus Scions, not rank-and-file troops. More likely, the "servitors" programmed with cold, unerring efficiency had simply offloaded a bulk shipment here, assuming the officers would handle distribution as they saw fit. After a lengthy consultation with Albert, Duncan had decided that only squad leaders in their two regiments would be granted power armor. The surplus was allocated to allied forces stationed nearby, ensuring their war effort remained cohesive. And yet, even after making this fateful decision, Duncan could not shake an unrelenting sense of unease. Requisitioning such exalted wargear solely for his officers, even with the best intentions, could easily be perceived as hoarding resources. The Munitorum did not look kindly upon commanders who diverted war materiel outside designated protocols. Worse, if someone like Qin Moa figure of considerable authoritydeemed it misappropriation, the consequences could be dire. Their fears, it seemed, were not unfounded. .... That morning, amidst the ceaseless movement of drones and the dull hum of supply transports, an additional aircraft descended into the encampment. Unlike the automated cargo haulers, this one was clearly manned or at least, deliberately deployed. As the transport slowed from subsonic speed, its retro-thrusters engaged, sending a rippling pressure wave through the stagnant air. The noise alone drew the attention of the entire encampment, and soon, a growing crowd of soldiers gathered beneath it, their expressions shifting between curiosity and apprehension. With a resonant thuda sound heavy with imperial purposetwo figures descended, their ceramite boots striking the ground with the assured weight of command. The first rose to his full height, armored in a suit of warplate far beyond standard-issue models. His mere presence alone demanded deference. Beside him, a second figureslightly shorter yet equally imposingremained as a silent sentinel. The moment their helmets were removed, revealing their faces, recognition swept through the ranks. Qin Mo. Grey. These were the very warriors who had arrived in the nick of time to reinforce them in recent battles, their deeds etched in every soldiers mind. Without hesitation, Duncan strode forward and executed a crisp Aquila salute. Albert, however, chose to linger in the background, his guilt evident in the way his eyes refused to meet Qin Mos. Qin Mos steely gaze swept across the assembled troops, his scrutiny as incisive as a power sword. In a heartbeat, his eyes narrowed upon noticing a glaring inconsistency. Some soldiers were adorned in resplendent power armor, while others remained in inferior, PDF standard-issue gear. A frown ghosted across his features. Why is it that not every soldier is outfitted with Standard Praetorian Pattern power armor? Duncans heart skipped a beat, he froze. Of all the things he had anticipatedaccusations, reprimands, perhaps even censurethis was not it. To outfit every soldier with power armor? Such a measure would border on a miracle wrought by the God-Emperor Himself. Grey, noticing Duncan''s hesitation, took a step forward. "He''s asking you a question," he said, his voice carrying the weight of expectation. "According to the deployment plan, every soldier should have been issued a suit of Standard Praetorian Pattern power armor. Why, then, are your men not clad in them? For a moment, Duncans lips parted as if to speak, only to betray him in silence. For weeks, he had been gripped by the fear that issuing power armor to his officers alone had been overstepping his bounds. But now, hearing that it was meant to be standard issue all along His mind reeled at the implications. .... Seeing Duncans stunned silence, Qin Mo exhaled sharply, already piecing together what had happened. He clarified, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation, "Next time, do not redistribute power armor elsewhere. The logistics drones deliver wargear exactly where it is needed. They do not simply leave it here for you to allocate at will." Duncan hesitated for a moment before asking in disbelief, "So youre telling me that every soldier is meant to be clad in power armor? "What else would it be?" Qin Mo replied rhetorically, a faint note of amusement threading through his otherwise unyielding tone. Just half a month ago, Qin Mo had overhauled the entire logistics infrastructure, optimizing the production lines, eliminating inefficiencies. Before his intervention, manufacturing was a sluggish, convoluted affair: drones scavenged the Underhive ruins for scrap, salvaged ancient tech, or relied on irregular shipments from renegade traders like Kato. Once gathered, raw materials were ferried to distant manufactorums for processing, then sent onward for final assembly. The interminable logistical delays ensured that vital wargear rarely reached the front lines in time. Yet, Qin Mo had introduced a radical innovationFabrication Printing Technology. Now, drones could directly print weapons and armor from raw base materials, rstreamlining production at an unprecedented rate. Outfitting every PDF soldier in power armor was no longer a quixotic dream but a tangible reality. Grey folded his arms and queried, When you received an excess of power armor, why didnt you confirm the situation via vox-comm? Such a discrepancy should have been reported immediately. Duncan shook his head in disbelief. Who in their right mind would have thought that power armor could ever be standard issue? A wry smirk played upon Greys lips. And who in their right mind would willingly dispense their supply of power armor without proper authorization? Duncan sighed. My apologies. I shall see to it that they are reclaimed forthwith. S~ea??h the Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But before Duncan could proceed, Qin Mo raised a hand in dismissal. "No need. The ones you distributed can remain as reserves for those units." He turned toward the logistics drones and issued a new command. Moments later, freshly fabricated power armor began rolling off the assembly lineeach set perfectly fitted for the soldiers in Duncans regiment. Finally, Qin Mo turned to depart, striding back toward the waiting transport. Just before boarding, he issued one final directive: "I will be conducting rigorous inspections to confirm that every unit employs their wargear as intended. Once the next shipment arrives, ensure that all of your soldiers are properly outfitted." Duncan nodded absently, still struggling to process everything. It all felt as surreal as a heretical dream A dream in which the Emperor had truly bestowed His blessing upon his beleaguered troops. As Qin Mo prepared to board the transport, Duncan hesitated for a moment before calling out in a tentative tone. "I know you wield a miraculous form of techno-sorcery, my Lord. But to outfit every soldier with power armor... is such an undertaking truly feasible? Qin Mo turned back, his voice resolute and unwavering. Power armor is the bulwark against the tides of death. In my forces, no life is expendable. I desire every soul to endure, which is why I ensured that each man is granted the Emperors protection in the form of power armor. With that final decree, Qin Mo boarded the transport, with Grey close behind. Moments later, the aircraft ascended into the turbulent skies, en route to the next battlefieldensuring that no other unit had made the same mistake as Duncans. Even after the craft had vanished beyond the horizon, Duncan remained rooted in place, the echo of Qin Mos words resonating in his mind like the tolling of a death knell. "In my army, no life is expendable... In my army, no life is expendable." .... Inside the transport, Grey chuckled, glancing at Qin Mo with amusement. "Funny I recall you telling me that you just wanted to stress-test the production limits of your Fabrication Printing system." Qin Mo raised a skeptical eyebrow. "When did I ever say that?" Grey smirked. Oh, I dont know perhaps on the night you perfected the system, when your triumphant shout was so fervent that it literally disrupted the fortresss gravity field?" Qin Mo sighed, conceding with a wry smile. Alright, fine. I admit I was eager to push the system to its limits. But that in no way diminishes my commitment to the lives of my soldiers. After all, these two objectives are not mutually exclusive, are they? Grey nodded in agreement. That, I can indeed agree with. "" Chapter 26: Missing For a time, the defensive lines continued to receive a steady influx of weapons, munitions, and wargear. The flow was relentless, carried in on the backs of tireless logistic drones. Duncan and Albert had long since received enough power armor to outfit every soldier under their command, yet still, the shipments did not cease. The fortress vast armories groaned under the crushing weight of surplus materiel, the racks buckling with bolters, chainswords, and plasma weaponry, yet the mechanized tide did not relent. It was as if a Mechanicus enclaves forges churned without pause, heedless of the practical limits of storage or deployment. Outside the fortress, Albert sat on a jagged slab of metal wreckage once the hull of a Chimera, now a rusting relic of war, his gaze fixed on the drones tirelessly scavenging the battlefield. They moved with the unerring precision, sifting through the shattered remains of past engagements, their manipulator arms harvesting anything of value. The detritus they collected was wargear long forsaken: lasrifles scarred by melta fire, ceramite plates shattered by krak grenades, fragments of power armor too sundered even for a Tech-priests ministrations. Black, spherical constructs hovered above the scavenging drones, their crimson lenses pulsing as they scanned each piece of recovered equipment. If an item was not of Adeptus Mechanicus provenance or if it had not been designed, modified, or sanctified by Lord Qin Mo the drones immediately deployed searing energy beams, reducing the objects to nothingness on a molecular level. Albert watched as weapons and armor disintegrated into oblivion, their very essence stripped away. Where the matter went, he did not know. He assumed it was being absorbed by the drones, though no physical change occurred in their forms. And yet, after enough raw material had been gathered, the drones would congregate, form a precise grid, and project eerie, crackling beams onto the barren ferrocrete ground. There, from the very air itself, entire suits of power armor and fresh weapons would take shape, materializing as if the Omnissiah Himself had willed them into existence. Fabrication-printing technology, Albert muttered, his voice barely more than a breath. The Mechanicus never spoke of such things, yet here it was, transmutation made manifest. He tried to decipher its workings, to comprehend the logic behind it. But there was none. No schematics, no assembly, no discernible mechanism. Just pure abstraction, a process that felt more akin to sorcery than science. Youre sitting here daydreaming again? A familiar voice cut through his thoughts. Albert turned, glancing up as Duncan strode toward him, his armored boots crunching against the debris-strewn ferrocrete. This position is two hundred meters from the fortress. The heretics could strike at any moment. Sitting out here alone is tantamount to suicide. Duncan settled beside him, his expression grim. Albert tilted his head back, staring into the oppressive void above. The hives artificial sky, if it could even be called such was nothing more than a tangled lattice of rusted pipes, industrial vents, and kilometers of decaying infrastructure. There was no sun, no stars, only the choking blackness of eternal industry, lit occasionally by the flicker of malfunctioning lumen-strips or the flare of plasma exhaust. If the heretics come, Albert muttered, Ill fight until Im freed from this miserable, lightless hell. Duncan said nothing. He understood Alberts fatalism. It had worsened as the campaign dragged on, as comrades fell one by one. The only thing keeping Albert anchored to this war-ravaged underhive was duty. The moment that duty was fulfilled, the moment the counteroffensive began, Albert would throw himself into the fray with no intention of coming back. Duncan decided to change the subject. While you were brooding, I contacted the 47th Regiment. Alberts dulled gaze sharpened. Has the counterattack begun? No. But the surviving forces are being reorganized. Duncan relayed what he had learned. All regiments were to be expanded to a standardized strength of ten thousand troops. Each would be required to maintain a full combat roster at all times. Furthermore, all Imperial forces in the sector were to be consolidated into a single unified war hosta Legionunder the supreme command of Lord Commander Qin Mo. Duncan gave Albert a pointed look. We should be mindful of how we address him now. Hes no longer just a name. He has rank, and more importantly, he has earned it. Albert, however, frowned. Weapons and armor can be mass-produced, but soldiers are not so easily conjured. Even if we merged both our regiments, we wouldnt reach ten thousand. Duncan was about to respond when Alberts expression shifted. His mind raced. A realization dawned. The city of Kato, Albert muttered. There are over three hundred thousand people there. Thats where the recruits are coming from, isnt it? Exactly. Duncan nodded. I received word that Katos reconstruction is underway. The civilians, upon learning of the new citys construction, have chosen to repay the Lord Commander for his efforts. Theyve volunteered en masse for military service. Theyll be deployed to reinforce our lines soon. Albert absorbed the information. He had never set foot in Kato, nor had he participated in its defense. But he knew its peopleunderhivers hardened by a lifetime of struggle. They knew war, even if they had not been soldiers. They had weapons, food, and most of all, an iron will. Earning their loyalty, however, was another matter entirely. Still, if that loyalty could be secured, then the Legion would have something rare: a self-sustaining war machine. A fighting force that would replenish itself without need for off-world reinforcements. Albert narrowed his eyes, staring into the distance. This is it. I can feel it. Everything thats happening its all preparation for the counteroffensive. After months of waiting, its finally about to begin. Duncan nodded in agreement. For a time, neither man spoke. They simply sat, staring out over the vast, ruined expanse of the underhive. sea??h th Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Then, Albert abruptly turned his gaze toward the drones. He gestured at them. If one of those things disintegrates me, ask the Lord Commander to scatter my ashes outside the hive. Duncan frowned. Were in the underhive. How exactly do you expect him to do that? Albert smirked. He has his Fabrication sorcery. He has all kinds of arcane technology. Youre telling me he cant make a slingshot and launch my ashes out of here?" Duncan sighed. Fine. If you die, Ill do it. .... Duncan was jolted awake by someone shaking him. Blinking in confusion, he saw two figures standing at his bedside. One was his personal bodyguard. The other belonged to Albert. Alberts bodyguard spoke first. Do you know where our commander is? Duncan groggily rubbed his face. Last I saw, Albert was brooding outside the fortress during dinner. You havent checked there? We did. He wasnt there. We had every soldier sweep a five-hundred-meter radius. No sign of him. Duncan was instantly awake. He threw on his uniform and strode toward the armory. Alberts bodyguard, following closely, hesitated before asking, You dont think the heretics captured him, do you? Impossible, Duncan snapped. Sentries are posted at every vantage point. If the enemy approached, theyd have seen it. Alberts bodyguard exhaled in reliefonly for Duncans next words to reignite his dread. Albert left on his own. And the reason? Duncan clenched his fists. The heretics have psykers. If he wandered beyond the fortresss psychic dampening field anything could have happened. Damn it... I warned that fool not to isolate himself in exposed positions. He reached the armory, striding toward a row of suspended power armor. Without hesitation, he began suiting up. Alberts bodyguard stepped forward. Ill go with you. Duncan glanced at him. Are you trained as a scout? The bodyguard faltered. No, but Then youll only slow me down. Fully armored, Duncan marched toward the fortress gates. The moment he stepped outside, he activated his bio-scanner, sweeping the surrounding area for life signs. The results came back. A dense cluster of red markers inside the fortress. No anomalies outside. Duncan moved forward. Scanning. Adjusting course. Albert was out there. And Duncan was going to find him. Chapter 27: I Need a Psyker Where are you bastard Emperor protect us Lord Commander guide us Duncan was growing desperate. His breath came in ragged bursts, his armors servos whirring with each frantic step. He had even begun to mutter prayers to Qin Mo, as if invoking the name of the enigmatic warlord who had forged his wargear might grant him some technological miracleperhaps an unseen function within his auspex array, something that could push the bio-scanners range just a little further. But he knew better. The auspex was never designed for tracking people. Its purpose was post-battle exterminationa tool to ensure that all enemy combatants, whether wounded or feigning death, could be identified and executed. Still, he pushed on. His heads-up display (HUD) flickered, feeding him streams of information as he sprinted through the ruins of the underhive, a maze of corroded catwalks and collapsed habitation stacks, his footfalls reverberating against the rusted metal and broken plasteel. Then, at lasta return signal. [Liveform detected: 1] The bio-scanner locked on, overlaying a marker on Duncans visor, providing an exact coordinate feed. A clear, direct path. Duncan exhaled, steadied himself. He advanced carefully, moving fast but silent. .... Two minutes into the pursuit, Duncan crouched behind a corroded metal bulkhead, his autosenses (augmetic eye) filtering through the dim, industrial gloom. His target came into view. Albert. The man moved like an automaton, his stride unwavering, his gaze empty. His eyes glowed faintlyan unnatural, dull purple sheen bleeding into the shadows. Duncans instincts screamed at him to act. His first thought was to tackle Albert and drag him back, force him out of this psyker-induced stupor before it was too late. His armors Anti-Psyker Dampeners could at least mitigate the worst of any warp-born influence. But just as he start moving, a new threat emerged. A distant growl of engines. A squad of heretics atop combat bikes thundered toward Alberts location. Their vehicles, blackened by warp-taint, left behind trails of acrid exhaust as they skidded to a halt. One of thema bald woman clad in patchwork carapace armordismounted. Her eyes gleamed with eerie amusement as she strode toward Albert, speaking rapidly. Duncan was too far to hear, but his HUDs auto-translation subroutines kicked in, analyzing the lip movements. A text feed appeared on his visor. [We finally caught an enemy alive. Take him back. Ill use him to track down that abhuman freak.] Albert did not resist. Without hesitation, he mounted one of the heretics bikes, allowing them to take him away. Duncan clenched his fists. A surge of instinct told him to strike nowto purge the Cultists before they could escape. But he held back. A direct engagement was too risky. If Albert was under psychic influence, attacking now could compromise him even further. In the end, he chose to return and report what he had seen. .... Far beneath the fortress, Qin Mo was at work. The subterranean chamber hummed with energy as he fine-tuned a machine of his own design. A device meant to triangulate the location of the Genestealer Patriarch. It was then that Klein entered, holding a fresh data-slate. My Lord, Klein began, Duncan has returned with a report. Qin Mo barely glanced up. His mind was already assembling the situation before Klein even spoke. Albert had wandered off. A Genestealer Psyker had taken control of him. And now, the enemy had seized the opportunity to abduct him. Had this been an Imperial Guard regiment, such a failure would have been an unforgivable disgrace. But for a Planetary Defense Force (PDF) unit? Hardly surprising. Qin Mo had no illusions about the PDFs worth. They were little more than militia at best, barely superior to Katos own underhive rabble they were meant to police. Klein sighed. With all due respect, my Lord, I warned you not to have high expectations of the PDF. Then, out of habit, he asked, Whats our next move? Qin Mo narrowed his eyes. Psykers he muttered. I need a Cult Psyker. Badly. Klein raised an eyebrow but did not question it. He had long since learned that if Qin Mo wanted something, it was for a damn good reason. Send Grey and Grot to clear out that extraction shaft, Qin Mo ordered. I have only one demand: bring back the Psyker alive. If they must kill them then at least bring back the head. So long as the brain remains intact. Klein gave a curt nod. Understood. He turned to relay the order. Qin Mo returned to his work, a rare glint of satisfaction in his gaze. .... A transport drone hovered silently above a extraction shaft. Two figures leaped down. Grey and Grot. Their descent was swift and controlled, a two-meter formation gap maintained to prevent their gravity shields from interfering with one another. Ill take point, Grey said. Ive got your six, brother, Grot responded, his HUDs rear-view feed automatically activating, allowing him to watch their flank even as he moved forward. Grey switched to thermal imaging, engaging his bio-scanners. A single pulse swept through the mineshaft. Then, movement. A rustling sound, unnatural and chittering, echoed ahead. Then they saw them. The xenos abominations slithered from the shadows, grotesque, twisted Genestealer hybrids, their elongated claws twitching with barely contained aggression. Their anatomy was an abominable fusion of human and alien warped beyond recognition, yet still bearing faint traces of their original forms. Aberrants. They moved unnaturally fast, scuttling across walls and ceilings, their chitinous hides glistening in the dim light. Grey didnt hesitate. His twin-linked shotgun-las roared, sending scatter-blasts of searing energy, dismembering the first wave of hybrids before they could close the distance. Meanwhile, his augmetic left hand, personally crafted by Qin Mocame to life. He clenched his cybernetic fingers. The aberrants in front of him exploded. Their mutated flesh detonated into viscera, their biomass liquefied by unseen forces. The bio-scanner completed its sweep. Grey checked the resultsand his visors flooded with red markers. Weve stirred up a Genestealer nest, he noted grimly. The data was horrific. The entire shaft was crawling with lifeforms. There were so many targets that the HUD had to fade out markers to prevent total visual obstruction. Grot smirked. I cant even see the exit anymore. Behind them, the swarm rushed in. The first hybrid lunged, only to be instantly crushed by Grots gravity shield. Without hesitation, Grot charged forward, graviton hammer in hand. One swing. The nearest aberrant flattened into a bloody smear. The gravitic shockwave followed, hurling nearby xenos into the walls with bone-shattering force. Sear?h the novlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. With the immediate threat cleared, Grey examined the corpses. These aberrants were different from the usual xenos scum, their mutations were more severe, yet still retained traces of human anatomical features. They were something new. He activated his bio-sample extractor, a compact mechanicus like-designed device. With a simple insertion into the flesh, it began automatically harvesting genetic material. Move out, brother, Grey ordered. His shoulder-mounted plasma cannon rose into position, locking onto the tunnel ahead. We dont have time to waste on these things. Finish the mission quickly. The cannon fired, a scorching plasma beam melting through the metal walls, carving a direct path forward. Originally, the tunnel led deeper down. But thanks to Greys intervention, a brand-new passageway now existed. Chapter 28: Efficiency Grey and Grot pressed forward with unwavering precision, advancing deeper into the tunnel, their bio-scanners sweeping the passage for any trace of the Psyker Qin Mo required. The underhive walls oozed with centuries of neglect and industrial decay, encrusted with grime, corrosion, and the bitter tang of spent promethium. Their boots crunched over debris, shattered metal, and the half-liquefied remains of Genestealer hybrids they had already slain. After covering nearly a kilometer of twisting passageways, Greys HUD sputtered to lifea new target blipped into his augur-array, accompanied by the clinical digital pronouncement: [Psychic signature detected. Target marked.] The cold, synthetic timbre of his armors cogitator reverberated within his helmet. Grey turned toward the designated location, adjusting his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon, and began searing a passage through the rusted ferrocrete wall. Behind him, Grot took point against the incoming swarm. Initially, Grot had planned to dismantle the foe with the raw force of his graviton hammer, but his HUDs tactical overlay swiftly classified the enemys clawed appendages as lethal melee threats, demanding a swift change in tactic. Without delay, he reholstered his titanic hammer, transitioning to his Heavy scatter-las. In that instant, the xenos tide surged forth. A writhing mass of twisted, chittering monstrosities burst from the gloom, their grotesquely malformed limbs scraping the tunnel walls as their predatory, luminous slits locked onto their prey. Grot opened fire, unleashing a storm of las-bolts that burned through the advancing horrors,reducing them to smoldering husks before they could close in. In mere moments, the tunnel floor was strewn with charred, twitching corpses, their bodies still steaming in the wake of plasma fire. These xeno-bastards just keep coming, Grot muttered, as his reactor core vented surplus heat, enabling his weapon to cool rapidly between volleys. Grey smirked. You could just let the gravity shield pulverize them into oblivion. I could, Grot chuckled, scattering another salvo of las-fire into the remaining hybrids. But then why the hell did we mount weapons on this armor? Grey fired another plasma blast, clearing a fresh path ahead. Grot followed, laying down suppressive fire to deter any stragglers still crawling after them. At this point, the battle had become routineso much so that they had time for idle conversation. Didnt the squad try to convince you to ask the Lord Commander to name our armors? Grot asked. Grey sighed, Yes. He simply dubbed it Armor. Sar?h the N?velFire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Grot snorted dismissively. Thats it? Just Armor? No flair whatsoever. I pressed him for something better. He got annoyed and called it Thunderborn Pattern Power Armor. Grot gave a grudging nod. Not bad, indeed. .... After a relentless half-hour of traversal, they breached a vast underground cavern. Greys HUD erupted in a flurry of alertsmultiple hostile signatures ahead. Grey scanned the battlefielddozens of Cultist forces had entrenched themselves, their lasguns and solid projectile weapons aimed at the breach. Lasguns. Stubbers. Makeshift barricades. And at the far end, amidst the chaos, stood one solitary soldier. Grey recognized him immediately. Albert. The man stood against two Cult infantrymen, wielding a stolen xeno blade in weak, desperate swings. He was already doomed. This wasnt a battle. It was an execution in slow motion. Alberts arm was severed, his ragged stump oozing blood as testament to grievous wounds. He wouldnt last another minute. Greys mission wasnt to save him. But he wasnt opposed to the idea. If he completed his primary objective first. Behind the entrenched Cult infantry, two Psykers emerged, their tattered robes undulating with raw, barely contained warp energies. Two of them. Only now did Grey realizehis psychic signature detection had actually overlapped two targets. Without warning, one of the Psykers shrieked, Fire! A hail of las-bolts and kinetic rounds stormed toward them. Grey and Grot didnt flinch. Grot deactivated his gravity shield, drawing his graviton hammer. Grey raised his scatter-las. [Tactical calculation complete. Time to eliminate all hostiles: 2.3 seconds.] Greys weapons roared to life. Within moments, the entrenched Cult infantry and their makeshift barricades were incinerated into oblivion. Grot ignited his jump-pack, propelling himself forward in a burst of controlled fury. Yet one of the Psykers retaliateda spastic, malignant hand extended as a wall of telekinetic force hurled chunks of twisted metal of the walls toward Grot, battering his armor and halting his momentum mid-leap. Simultaneously, the second Psyker conjured a vortex of raw warp-fire, streaking toward him like a living inferno. Grot roared in defiance. I AM A THUNDERBORN, YOU WARP-SCARRED WHORE! With his jump-pack thrusting to maximum output, he shattered the telekinetic bind, hurtling toward his adversary. With a devastating swing, his graviton hammer pulverized the first Psyker, reducing him to a blood-spattered smear that splattered grotesquely across the cavern walls. At the same moment, Grey deployed his grav-field manipulators of his cybernetic arm, yanking the second Psyker across the chaotic battlefield directly into his grasp. His augmetic fingers locked around her throat. Her eyes widened in sheer terror as she attempted to muster the vestiges of her psychic mightbut nothing happened. The anti-psyker dampeners embedded in Greys Thunderborn armor had utterly suppressed her warp abilities. She thrashed feebly against his grip until her resistance waned with her dwindling air supply. Then her movements slowed. The fight was over. .... Grey performed a bio-scan on Alberts body. His HUD soon highlighted the soldiers silhouette and wounds, followed by a single stark line: [Exsanguination. Survival Probability: 0%.] Hes dead, Grey stated. Yeah, Grot replied with a resigned sigh, glancing briefly at Alberts serene, defiant smile Even in death, the soldier was smilingas if his final vision had been the total annihilation of the Cultists insurgents. Grey silently swept the area with bio-scanners, ensuring that no enemy survivors remained. Any still breathing were put down instantly. Once confirmed that the sole remaining hostile was the captured Psyker, Grey turned to Grot. We cannot leave his body behind. Secure him for transport. .... Their retreat, however, wasnt unchallenged. The Genestealer hybrids they had previously bypassed had returned en masse, swarming the tunnel network like a living plague. This time, Grot assumed point, hoisting Alberts mutilated corpse with grim determination, while his shoulder-mounted cannon unleashed devastating energy beams that incinerated any xenos within its path. The searing beams vaporized the abominations with ruthless efficiencyfar surpassing the lethality of melee or scatter-las engagements. Silence reigned in the claustrophobic corridors as Grey and Grot withdrew. Both were lost in thought. Grot, despite his usual brashness, found himself uncharacteristically contemplative, his thoughts turning to the standard infantrythose hapless souls clad in "mere" Praetorian Pattern wargear, a paltry defense compared to their modified Thunderborn armor. Was the only difference between them and the other PDF soldiers of this Hive the fact that they wore Thunderborn Pattern Power Armor? Had it not been for their Thunderborn Pattern Power Armor, how many times would they have perished against the relentless horrors of the Hive? Grey, in contrast, was thinking about something else. He was considering further augmentations. If he enhanced himself enough he could keep fighting, even without armor. Emerging from the extraction shaft, they boarded the transport and returned to the 47th Regiment Fortress. Chapter 29: A Mission That Can Turn the Tide of Battle From the moment Qin Mo issued his command to the time Grey and Grot returned, the entire operation took less than one hour. Along the way, the two made a brief detour to Duncans coordinates to deposit Alberts lifeless form, a stark reminder of the countless sacrifices demanded by a war against xenos corruption. As soon as Qin Mo secured the psyker, he had her confined in a reinforced chamber, its adamantium walls layered with Anti-Psyker Emitters. .... Let me out! Ill KILL you all! Uuuuhhh... uuuhhh The psyker thrashed violently, her frail body crashing against the iron-clad walls. Her eyes burned with madness, glowing faintly with residual warp-energy, but no power came to her aid. Cut off from the psychic synapse web of the Genestealer Cult, her connection to the Broodmind had been severed, leaving only emptiness and despair. Grey and Qin Mo stood at the doorway, their expressions cold and impassive, watching her unravel like a puppet with its strings cut. After a moments pause, Grey finally asked, What use is she? She holds significant value, replied Qin Mo with a smile. Through her, I can pinpoint the location of the xenos leader. Grey raised an eyebrow. Didnt you say you were already working on a device to track him? I did. But with her involvement, the process will be much faster... and far more precise. Grey glanced at the psyker curled up on the floor, reduced to nothing more than a shivering husk. His grip on his bolter tightened. Do we need to extract her brain? No need, Qin Mo replied, shaking his head. "Then how do we make her comply without killing her?" Qin Mo didnt answer immediately. He simply watched the psyker struggle for a few more moments before turning to Grey. Every living being has a breaking point. Once that threshold is crossed, they cease to be who they were. Grey said nothing, but he understood. He had almost reached that point himself when the 44th Regiment was nearly wiped out. He had endured because that was the duty of a soldier of the Imperium, yet he understood not everyone could bear such a burden. Still, he wasnt sure how this related to breaking the psyker. In a steady tone, Qin Mo continued. Ill break her. Shatter her mind. Then, Ill rebuild her. He turned, motioning for Grey to follow. You should pay attention. One day, youll need to extract information from an enemy more... efficiently. Grey hesitated. Is this necessary? Qin Mo chuckled, shaking his head. Necessary? No. I could just strap her into a machine and rip the knowledge straight from her neurons. Grey sighed softly. Then why do this? Because this is a lesson. .... For two days, Qin Mo and Grey worked the psyker over. It wasnt like a standard interrogationno crude torture, no direct questioning. Yet Grey couldnt discern a clear pattern in his methods. He kept asking inane, nonsensical questions, forcing the psyker to answer. The only noticeable change was her resistance. At first, she screamed, thrashed, cursed. But now, she simply sat in the corner, staring blankly, answering his words like a broken automaton. And so, the process continued. Even now. What flavor of starch do you like? Qin Mos tone was light, almost conversational. Grey stood beside him, his fingers flexing over the hilt of his combat blade. If she made even the slightest wrong move, he would crush her Skull before she could even think about resistance. But the psyker only shrank further into herself, curling up tightly. Starch has no flavor, sir she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Answer me. Qin Mos voice hardened. She trembled. But... but it really has no flavor Really? I dont believe you. Qin Mo shook his head, feigning disappointment. Her eyes darted around the room in search of an escape that did not exist. After a long moment, she repeated, It really has no flavor. Alright then. Qin Mo rose to his feet and left the room. The moment he stepped out, the waiting guards entered, each wielding electrified shock-mauls. A moment later, screams and anguished wails echoed through the hallway. It was the same routine that had been repeated for the past two days: Qin Mo would ask his questions, and when he was done, the enforcers would enter. .... The chamber stank of antiseptic and burnt copper. Qin Mos methods remained merciless. Relentless barrage of questions, each more nonsensical than the last. What color is silence? he intoned. The psyker huddled in the corner, her shaved scalp crusted with dried blood from where shed battered it against the walls. Her once-vivid eyes were hollow, her answers rote. S-silver. Like st-stars Incorrect. Qin Mo nodded to a guards lurking in the shadows. Then a hulking brute stepped forward, its shock-maul crackling with blue current. The psyker screamed. Grey leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His bolt pistol felt heavier than usual. This is a waste of time. Plug her into your machine and be done. If you want to teach me, Im willing to learn but right now Qin Mo didnt look up from his data-slate. "Haste yields incomplete results. The machine might extract data, but it would lack context and certainty. " He gestured to the psyker, now sobbing into her knees. ensures her compliance. No lies. No resistance. Only . What tastes like sorrow? Qin Mo demanded suddenly. The psyker flinched. R-rust. Rot. The Emperors Mercy After a brief pause, Qin Mo nodded. Adequate. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As he strode out, two Enforcers entered, their shock-mauls spitting sparks. The door sealed behind them, muffling the screams. Grey followed Qin Mo into the hallway, his voice sharp. Do you enjoy this? Qin Mo halted mid-step. ...No. Grey stared back at the interrogation room. The psykers whimpers seeped through the door, broken by jagged laughter. He wondered if shed already told them everythingand if theyd simply failed to hear it. Do you understand now? Qin Mo asked. No. Grey shook his head, exasperated. Ill explain it in detail later when we have time. Or I could install a a cortical infolink in your brain so you can just download the knowledge. Qin Mo wasnt in a hurry to make Grey grasp interrogation techniques immediately. Grey grimaced. Pass, for now. Qin Mo chuckled. "I thought so." He knew that, to Grey, his methods must seem as incomprehensibly cruel. But cruelty was the currency of survival in the grimdark expanse of the 40k universe. He himself had once been unprepared for this brutal reality. That was why he had ended up in chains, discarded like refuse in the depths of the , another nameless soul crushed beneath the weight of a world that did not care. He had sworn to himself that it would happen again. Ive already ordered each regiment to expand to ten thousand troops. These soldiers need weapons and equipment, plus reserves. That means we have at least two days before deployment. So, I figured we could either use that time for training... or throw a banquet. Qin Mo said. Greys lip curled. Youd waste hours on ? No. Qin Mos gaze didnt waver. I waste hours on . The machine does not sleep. The war does not pause. But our mortal troops? They require . .... Qin Mos work had yielded results. Now, it was time to test his creation. Grey escorted the psyker from her holding cell. Though she was no longer bound, her neck was still fitted with a psyk-inhibitor collar, ensuring she could not wield her unnatural gifts. They descended deeper into the underground bunker, stepping through armored bulkheads reinforced with adamantium plating. Inside, five warriors in Thunderborn-pattern power armor awaited. Among them stood Qin Mo. Come here. He beckoned. The psyker hesitated, trembling like a malnourished grox calf. Qin Mo seized her by the throat, forcing her to look at the spherical device in the corner of the bunker. See that machine? Step inside, put on the helmet, and sit down. Relax. Y-Yes she replied softly, her voice devoid of its former defiance. Qin Mo was pleased. With a casual motion, he unfastened the psyk-inhibitor collar. The others immediately tensed, their graviton hammers primed, their trigger fingers tightening on volkite carbines. But their caution was unnecessary. The psyker had been so thoroughly broken that she barely noticed. She simply obeyed, stepping into the machine without resistance. Submission. Obedience. The final phase was complete. Grey exhaled sharply. He had doubted Qin Mos methodsbut now, the proof was before him. The psyker donned the interface helm, and the moment she relaxed, her consciousness reconnected to the Genestealer psychic network. And thenresistance flared. Defiance flooded her mind, her old self clawing to the surface. ?Where are you, sister? Do not surrender. For the Great Devourer! We are always with you! Stay strong!...? The psychic network surged with voices. The psyker reached up, trying to rip off the device The machine responded swiftly. Restraints snapped into place. A surge of energy briefly overloaded her neural pathways until she fell silent. Qin Mo studied the screen. Data streams flooded in, marking enemy locations. The hive minds bond is touching. Qin Mo muttered as he filtered through the vast influx of data, looking for the most crucial piece of information. He hadnt expected immediate results from this experimentbut the outcome exceeded expectations. Deep beneath the Tyrone Hive, the Patriarch of the cult had already noticed that an important psychic node had gone missing. The moment this node reconnected, the entire brood-mind instinctively conducted a sweep And that sweep had been intercepted. 340 kilometers due north, 2,000 meters underground. He read aloud. .... At that exact location, a massive Tyranid bioform opened its eyes. Two seconds later, it shut them again and issued a command through the Broodmind. The war had entered its next phase. .... Back in the bunker, the psyker in the machine went brain-dead. Qin Mo calmly began donning his power armor. When the full-scale offensive begins, Ill lead the strike team personally. We have a mission that will turn the tide of this war. We are going to end this war. Chapter 30: The Counteroffensive The full-scale Imperial counteroffensive had begun. This was no frantic charge, no desperate last standit was a meticulously orchestrated onslaught, as precise as a well-placed bolter round to the skull. The regiments of the Planetary Defense Force, their ranks tempered by relentless attrition and necessity, had stood ready long before the order was uttered. In the towering command bastion, macro-cogitators whirred with cold machine logic, processing firing solutions with inhuman efficiency. The data streamed through encrypted vox channels, feeding targeting coordinates to the automated artillery batteries entrenched along the warfront. The Drone-manned artillery adjusted their massive barrels, locking onto pre-designated coordinates where the enemys foul ranks had entrenched themselves, ready to unleash their payloads upon the Cult forces once the ground troops had secured their formations. Infantry squads stormed the armories, donning their Praetorian Pattern armor and swiftly grabbing their neatly arranged lasguns. Under the coordination of the Drone-led logistics teams, Leman Russ battle tanks rolled from their holding pens. The tank crews moved with the efficiency of a well-maintained autocannon, their neural implants feeding them auspex data and battlefield schematics through noospheric uplinks. They had long since mastered their machinesnot through intuition, but through rigorous hypno-conditioning and thousands of simulated battles. One of the first to reach full mobilization was Duncans regiment. The moment confirmation came from allied forces, he climbed into the command turret of his Leman Russ, his grip tightening on the vox-caster relay. Whats our battle plan? A voice crackled through the tanks internal voxhis regiments acting commander. The young officer had earned the respect of his men, taking command in the wake of Alberts death, but he was still green in the art of total war. Advance. Duncans response was cold and unwavering. That was Lord Qin Mos order. No elaborate maneuvers. No sector-by-sector objectives. No grand strategic outlines. Just one word. Advance. Some had questioned the lack of complexity in the command. Others had whispered of hidden objectiveswas this merely a diversionary push or something far more calculated? Before the doubts could fester, the vox snapped to life again. Vox discipline! No idle chatter! All regiments are to advance and draw the enemys main force into the kill zonecreating the perfect battlefield conditions for the Lord Commander and his elite guard. It was Kleins voice. Duncan hesitated, then keyed the vox. Can I ask what exactly is the Lord Commanders objective? Assassination. Brians tone was grim. The enemys Leader must die. This war ends today. Suddenly, everything made sense. Duncan poked his head out of the turret to assess his regiments condition. His infantryclad in power armoradvanced in formation alongside the regiments ten Leman Russ tanks. Behind them, the artillery lines had already begun unleashing a steady, earth-shattering bombardment. A thunderous roar echoed across the battlefield as the horizon ahead vanished beneath blinding plumes of fire and debris. The first wave of destruction had barely settled before a second artillery barrage followed, hammering down like the Emperors own wrath. Combat drones soared overhead, their auspex scanners sweeping the terrain for enemy movement. Even logistical drones, normally relegated to the rear lines, had joined the marchwheeling forward ammunition crates and medical supplies as if they too were conscripts in the God-Emperors service. Duncan watched as gravitic shields deployed ahead of the advance, glowing crimson holofields warning friendly units to stay clear of the projected barriers. Above, white-painted medicae drones screamed across the sky, weaving between anti-air flak as they rushed toward the ever-growing casualty zones. By the Emperor Duncan muttered. This wasnt the reckless, desperate charge he had feared. It was a calculated, merciless extermination. Duncan raised his chainsword, his voice booming over the vox. Advance! For the Emperor! For the Lord Commander! The 87th Regiment surged forward. The cult forcesalready crippled by artillery strikesbegan to break apart. Yet they still resisted. Their crude projectile weapons were uselessbolts and solid slugs simply shattering against the gravitic barriers. The few cult lasguns that landed shots left only faint scorch marks on Praetorian Pattern armor plating. But there was no mercy. The PDF infantry swept their auspex scanners, marking survivors for execution. The Leman Russ tanks fired without pause, their battle cannons turning trenches into charnel pits. Across the entire warfront, every regiment pushed forward, unrelenting. .... While the ground forces crushed the cult in open combat, Qin Mo, Grey, and their elite Thunderborn soared high above them, aboard an automated transport drone. Their objective lay deep behind enemy lines. S~ea??h the ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Cult had anticipated the assassination attemptmakeshift anti-air defenses lined their strongholds, flak batteries and missile silos vomiting death into the skies. But it was meaningless. The transports gravitic shields absorbed or deflected every shot. Missiles hurtled toward them, only to crumple under the sheer repulsion force of the shields energy field. Qin Mo stood at the center of the transport hold, addressing his warriors. Our forces have drawn away the enemy, but our path is still contested. We may face tensif not hundredsof thousands of Heretics. His voice was unshaken. We will complete this mission. No matter the cost. Grey gave a firm nod. With you leading us, nothing is beyond our reach. Qin Mo smirked. The transports engines hummed to a hover. They had arrived. .... Qin Mo moved to the drop hatch, Grey and the others right behind him. We deploy in formation. Shields up on landing. With a final command, he disabled the transports shields and leapt. Gravity took hold, dragging them into the inferno of the warzone. Jump packs activated mid-fall, stabilizing their descent. The Rebels on the ground saw them comingsix figures descending like avenging angels through the storm of anti-air fire. Panic spread among the cultists. Some scattered, others grabbed their heavy weapons. Grey landed first. Then the second. Then the third Qin Mo touched down last, his boots slamming into the scorched earth. The enemy opened fire. Bolts of plasma and streams of las-fire poured toward them. The attacks were so intense that their visors switched to thermal mode just to see past the blinding fury of battle. [Psychic signature detected.] A warning flashed across their HUDsan ominous purple marker appearing on their visors. A massive, seven-meter-tall silhouette loomed through the flames. A Genestealer Patriarch. The monster locked eyes with Qin Moand prepared to unleash its psychic wrath. Move! Qin Mo commanded, leading the charge with his jump pack boosting his momentum. They ignored unnecessary targets, rushing directly toward the Patriarch. Qin Mo was at the front, bracing for the incoming psychic attack. His eyes locked onto the monsters gaze But strangely, the Patriarch didnt unleash its psychic might. Its grotesque bio-psyker form convulsedbefore collapsing. Qin Mo had no time to question it. He fired his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon. The others followedsix lances of superheated plasma streaked toward the Patriarch, vaporizing anything in their path. The creature barely dodged. Its hideous form rolled aside, avoiding total obliteration But the entire cult vanguard around it was vaporized. The Patriarchs fury ignited a chain reaction And across the battlefieldthe cult fell into a berserk frenzy, launching a suicidal counterattack against the Imperials. Qin Mo continued advancing, blasting apart Genestealers while keeping his sights on the Patriarch. The enemy forces threw themselves mindlessly into the gravitic shields, their bodies crushed under its crushing forceyet they kept coming. The Patriarch seemed to anticipate every plasma shot, evading them with ease. Until, once again, it tried to summon its psychic power And once againconvulsedbefore collapsing. Only to be struck by a devastating blast of plasma, searing through its monstrous flesh. Chapter 31: Genestealer Patriarch A bloodcurdling psychic shriek tore through the battlefield as the Genestealer Patriarch, now a mutilated ruin, thrashed wildly upon the blood-soaked ground. Its lower body had been vaporized, the searing plasma beam carving through its chitinous frame like a surgical scalpel. Hit confirmed! Qin Mo bellowed as he accelerated forward., the servos in his Thunderborn-pattern power armor whining as he surged toward the crippled xenoform. Flanking him, Grey and Grot carved a merciless path through the foaming masses of heretical cultists with their scatter-lasers. Their weaponsbursts of destructive energy and incandescent firedisintegrated flesh and bone in a relentless tide of purging fury. Meanwhile, the other three Thunderborns moved in perfect sync behind them, cutting down any cultists attempting to flank them from the rear. It was then that they noticed something unusual. Every single cultist had tears streaming down their faces. .... The Patriarchs agony had bled into the psychic network, reverberating through the brood-mind like a shattered scream. The lesser Genestealer hybrids, though incapable of fully comprehending their masters torment, felt it like an open wound. And so, they threw themselves forward without hesitation, their fanatic devotion overriding self-preservation. The first wave of mindless zealots hurled themselves against the gravitic shields, bodies reduced to liquefied slurry upon impact. Yet the higher echelons of the cult were far more calculating. They formed a protective barrier around the Patriarch, stacking themselves like human sandbags, trying to drag its crippled form away from Qin Mos onslaught. They wept. They howled. Some begged for mercy But Qin Mo did not care. He only sought to increase their suffering. Meat shields? Qin Mo scoffed. Did you really think I outfitted my shoulder cannons with multiple firing modes for mere ornamentation? With zero hesitation, he fired again. A column of blinding plasma erupted from his shoulder-mounted cannon, searing across the horde, cutting down hundreds in a single sweep But just as it was about to annihilate the Patriarch and its living shields, a robed figure stepped forward. She raised one hand, fingers crackling with unnatural power. A shimmering purple barrier materialized between the plasma beam and the Patriarch. The blast deflected, ripping apart dozens more cultists before dissipating into the burning skyline. Qin Mo narrowed his eyes. Sarch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This wasnt a common Genestealer Magus. She had effortlessly repelled an attack capable of leveling entire battalions. .... The psyker stood calmly before the dying Patriarch, her expression devoid of emotion. The ornate purity of her robes, the intricate sigils lining her garments, the faint halo of warp-light flickering around her headall of it marked her as something far beyond a standard Genestealer Magus. A High Magus. She had six broodguards flanking herelite hybrids, garbed in ceremonial purple war-robes, each wielding power-imbued sabers. That confirmed it. She wasnt just any psyker. She was one of the Cults highest-ranking priestesses, a being of immense influence directly linked to the hive minds will. Her broodguard would be just as deadlyassassins capable of butchering entire squads before their victims even knew they were under attack. But Qin Mo wasnt concerned. What could they possibly do? Charge directly into the gravitic shields crushing field? Then, the Patriarch stirred. With one colossal, trembling talon, it reached outplacing it upon the High Maguss shoulder. And she responded. A crackling surge of bio-lightning erupted from her hands And the gravitic shields collapsed instantly. .... For the first time, Qin Mo was caught off guard. The gravitic shields had never failed before. He had no idea how her warp-infused lightning had neutralized them. But it didnt matter. Technology was still reliable. Before the cultists could even react, the gravitic shields rebooted. Hundreds of cultists, who had rushed forward, were suddenly crushed into paste, their bodies compressed into wet smears beneath the shields crushing field. The broodguard had remained motionless, unfazed, their posture unshakenas if they were an unbreakable defensive line. Unfortunately for them High Magus wasnt the only one who could summon lightning. Still moving forward, Qin Mo raised his gauntleted hand A bolt of azure energy erupted, slamming down upon the Magus and her broodguard. The purging light engulfed everything within 100 meters. Unlike the tainted warp-lightning of the Magus, this was the pure, uncorrupted fury of the Ctana force anchored in the material universe itself. The High Maguss barrier shattered. The Patriarch lunged forward, throwing its mangled form between her and the attack But as the energy coursed through its body, its monstrous, alien face twisted in sheer confusion. It did not understand. It could not comprehend how a mere human had uncovered its lair, nor how such devastating weapons had been built deep within the Underhive. Qin Mo, in turn, could not understand how the Magus had disabled the gravitic shields. But it didnt matter. The gap had closed. Only 200 meters remained between him and the Patriarch. At this distance, his jump pack could cover the ground in an instant. His jets roared, launching him high into the air. From above, he saw the fear in the enemys eyes. The Magus was the first to flee, her broodguard immediately escorting her away. In an instant, she had vanished from the battlefield. It must have been the Patriarchs orderotherwise, the Magus and her guards would have prioritized the Patriarchs survival over their own. Then Qin Mo landed. .... "SPLAT!" He didnt even attack. He didnt need to. Every cultist within his landing radius died instantly. Crushed beneath the gravitic shields field of pressure. The Patriarch lasted only three seconds. Thenits massive form collapsed, its grotesque frame compressed into a sickening, two-dimensional smear upon the metallic ground. The Patriarch was dead. Objective complete. The battlefield imploded into chaos. Some cultists fled in terror, others collapsed to their knees, wailing in despair, while a few turned their weapons on each other, slitting each others throats. .... But Qin Mo wasnt finished. He approached the Patriarchs remains, extracting biomass samplesmuscle, chitin, brain matter, even blood. Grey watched in silence, still firing his plasma cannon at the fleeing remnants. Power reserves are running low. Grey warned while still firing his plasma cannon. Since the battle had begun, none of their cannons had stopped firing. While Qin Mo had focused on the Patriarch, the others had rained death upon the horde, reducing the overall threat. Qin Mo nodded, summoning a transport drone. Want us to shovel the corpse onto the transport? Grot asked. No need. We have enough. Qin Mo shook his head. The battle raged around them, until their transport arrived. They boarded and departed. This war isnt over. Grey muttered. That Magus is still alive. Qin Mo held up the extracted biomass, a knowing smirk crossing his face. Oh, I know. But it will be soon. He had plans for this genetic material. A bioweapon. One that would exterminate the Cultforever. .... At last, as the echoes of battle faded into a grim lull, Qin Mo allowed himself a moment of reflection on his victory. The Genestealer Cult festering within Tyrone Hive had never truly matured. Their uprising had only occurred because they had been discovered and exposed too early. Otherwise, they wouldnt have been hundreds of thousands They would have been millions. Tens of millions. Possibly billions. Whoever first uncovered these xeno-tainted bastards I hope they made it out alive. Chapter 32: A Masterpiece of Biology By the time official confirmation of the successful decapitation strike reached the Imperial warfront, the Planetary Defense Force (PDF) had already pushed the battle line 100 kilometers forward. Duncans composite regiment had advanced with such ferocity that they were compelled to halt at dusk, their impetuous momentum checked only by the necessity of allowing the more deliberate divisions to catch up. For the ground forces, todays campaign had yielded a victory beyond even the most optimistic expectations. And yet As the warriors gathered around flickering campfires beneath the shroud of night, waiting for their rations to be dispensed from the regimental stores, their faces did not reflect unwavering triumph. There was excitement, yesbut also disbelief. "Did we win too easily?" "I thought this was going to be a desperate, last-stand battle." "The Emperor protectsno matter what, we secured victory." Murmurs of doubt and wonder rippled through the assembled PDF soldiers like a silent litany, their voices a mix of awe and apprehension. While his troopers debated the unexpected ease of their conquest, Duncan sat in reflective silence, replaying the days events in his mind. One word defined the entire engagement. Advance. That was the order. That was the battle. That was the first great victory of the counteroffensive. At first, the Rebels resisted fiercely. Then, as the battle raged on, their resistance escalated to an even more frenzied level. And thenwithout warningtheir entire battle line collapsed. From that moment forward, Duncans regiment encountered only panicked stragglers, Rebels scrambling in disorganized retreat, their formations shattered. Were Duncan ever to pen his memoirs, he knew exactly how his opening lines would read: "We advanced. Under the covering barrage of autonomous artillery and relentless servitor fire, we pressed ever onward, purging the remaining pockets of heresy after the bombardment and seizing one strategically crucial position after another." .... "A war fought with overwhelming firepower, impeccable logistics, and absolute preparednessthis is the way battles should be won." A calm, authoritative voice then cleaved through the murmuring assembly. Instantly, every soldier sprang to their feet, snapping into discipline as they turned toward the speaker. From the shadows beyond the firelight, Qin Mo approached, flanked by his elite Thunderborns. The gleaming adamantium plating of their Thunderborn-pattern power armor caught the flickering light, a vision of Imperial might incarnate. Without a moments hesitation, every soldier rose in unison to deliver the Aquila salute, their reverence unmistakable. Qin Mos gaze swept over the assembled troops, his presence an unspoken gravity that silenced all doubts. His eyes finally fixed on Duncan. "I heard of your performance today," Qin Mo said. "You were the first to push this far, eliminating countless Rebels along the way. Well done." Duncan straightened, the weight of the commendation bolstering his already stalwart spirit. "Your recognition honors both me and my men." After a brief pause, he continued, "We also received word of your decisive strike against the enemy leadership. Without your timely intervention, our advance would not have been so seamless." Qin Mo gave a small smile. "That is true." His cold, calculating gaze flickered across the assembled troopers once morenot as a mere observer, but as a commander assessing his war machine. Then, he continued forward. Duncan followed in silence, his mind racing. .... "Do you require anything?" Abruptly, Qin Mo turned to address Duncan directly. Duncan replied without hesitation. "Our only need is to exterminate more Heretics." "That is your perspective," Qin Mo responded, his tone even. "But you are not a psyker. You cannot fathom the inner thoughts of your entire regiment. Let them speak for themselves." The gathered troops hesitated for only a moment before speaking freely Some soldiers called for integrated backpacks within their power armor to enhance endurance on prolonged marches. Others petitioned for larger power cells to extend the operational reserves of their lasguns and plasma weaponry. A few even, half in jest, requested rationed alcoholan indulgence to be savored should they survive the grueling campaign. Beside Qin Mo, Anrida, one of his Thunderborns, recorded every request on a data-slate. Anrida was one of the last survivors of the 44th Regiment, a former battlefield scribe under Burr. His logistical expertise had been repurposed into a far more lethal role, yet his keen mind remained sharp as ever. "I will ensure all your requests are fulfilled," Qin Mo declared. This was not an empty promise. With the matter Fabrication Printing technology of his logistics drones, these modifications were trivial to produce. With the matter settled, Qin Mo redirected his piercing gaze back to Duncan. "I have come here to inspect the frontline and assess your needs. Now, all that remains is for you to fulfill your dutyadvance and conquer." Duncan saluted sharply. "Understood." Above them, a transport aircraft hovered, its anti-gravity engines humming softly. "Maintain discipline. Maintain efficiency. The Emperor provides." With those final words, Qin Mo turned, boarding the waiting transport alongside his Thunderborns. The aircraft ascended, vanishing into the darkness for the next regiments encampment. .... This post-battle tour had not been Qin Mos ideait was Kleins. Klein believed that by visiting every regiment, allowing soldiers to voice their concerns, and personally granting material upgrades, Qin Mo could cement his authority among the troops. Moreover, the imposing Thunderborn power armornow a tangible symbol of Imperial mightensured that Qin Mos presence inspired reverence rather than fear. Most critically, it bolstered morale, instilling in the soldiers the unyielding confidence required to face the Emperors foes without hesitation. Qin Mo would soon withdraw from frontline command to focus entirely on developing a Genestealer-specific bioweapon. Without his direct leadership, the troops needed confidence, motivation, and absolute certainty in victory. This tour ensured that. .... After spending a Terran day inspecting the frontlines, Qin Mo returned to his fortress-laboratory. The Patriarchs blood samples were fed into an automated genetic analyzer. As he waited, Qin Mos thoughts driftednot towards the intricate designs of his bioweapon, but back to the earlier decapitation strike. The Genestealer Patriarch had been psychically powerful beyond measure And yet, in battle, it had failed to use its psychic abilities even once. It had triedbut every time it attempted to unleash its psychic might, it had collapsed instead. It was as if someone or somthing had silenced it. Qin Mo was certainIt wasnt him. He was resistant to psychic influence, but he was no nullhe could not actively negate warp powers. Otherwise, the High Magus would have been just as helplessyet she had been able to summon warp lightning strong enough to disable gravitic shields. So who had interfered? "Ding. Ding. Ding." The analysis was complete. Hundreds of thousands of genetic sequences flashed across the display screen. Setting aside his lingering questions, Qin Mo focused intently on the data. As he scrolled through the data, one thing became clear His instincts had been correct. The Patriarchs genome was vastly superior to its lesser kin. A bioweapon synthesized from its DNA would be catastrophic for the Genestealer Cult. Qin Mo exhaled, his gaze settling upon the preserved biomass. S~ea??h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. However The Patriarch had already adapted to the unique environment of Tyrone Hive. A bioweapon based on its genetics would work herebut might fail on other planets, even within the same system. Minor differences in atmospheric composition or pollution levels could trigger genetic mutations, rendering the bioweapon ineffective. Once more, he exhaled, his eyes lingering on the preserved remains. Who designed you? A rare moment of genuine admiration slipped into his voice. If he were to create a biological warform If his capabilities allowed It would mirror the artistry of a Genestealer Patriarch. What a masterpiece. If the Patriarch was a masterpiece, then the Tyranids as a whole were a work of art. Of course, there was a possibility that the Tyranids had evolved naturally But the odds were slim. Unless they had emerged from a worlds of constant, extreme evolutionary pressures, even then chance of it were Abysmal, it was far more likely that they were Bioengineered. Qin Mo shook his head, dispelling the reverie. "Focus on the task at hand." He cleared his mind And began designing the weapon that would end the war. Chapter 33: Firefighter ?The Lord Commanders counteroffensive has been ongoing for over half a month.? ?In these past weeks, our advance has been unyieldingthe tide of war has turned decisively in our favor. Yet now, the Heretics have begun to fortify their defensive positions.? As the 87th Regiment secured control of a newly subdued hive sub-city, Duncan sat inside his battle-scarred Leman Russ tank, the engines roar melding with the distant echoes of bolter fire. He scribbled meticulous notes into his field journal, each stroke a testament to the sudden shift in the tempo of the conflicta war measured not only in blood and fire, but in the shifting tides of faith and duty. For more than two weeks, the enemy had been in complete disarray. Their reactions had been as varied as the heresy that fueled themsome forces crumbled and fled like vermin, others succumbed to blind, panicked terror, while a few fanatical zealots hurled themselves forward as living bombs, their crude explosives a final act of defiance. Thenwithout warningtheir behavior changed. Sear?h the N?velFire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It was subtle at first. Though the cultists still lacked the disciplined coordination of a seasoned foe, their localized battlefield tactics had grown markedly more refined. They were learning. Unfortunately for them, it wasnt nearly enough to threaten the Imperial ground forces. Consider this hive sub-city, for instance The autonomous artillery batteries had saturated the area with hellfire long before the PDF ever arrived. Combat drones swept through the ruins, identifying and neutralizing survivors. By the time Duncans regiment moved in, their task had been simpleadvance and execute whatever remained. It was not a battle. It was a purge. Duncan snapped his journal shut with a measured solemnity. The battered leather cover bore a single name: Albert. A familiar, weighty sorrow settled in his chest. For the first time since Qin Mos visit, Duncan felt a twinge of guilt. When the Lord Commander had personally inquired about the needs of his troops, Duncan had remained silent about Alberts final, dying wish. But deep down, he knew he had made the right choice. The war in the underhive was far from over. Priorities had to be set in iron and blood. Still, he murmured a quiet oath under his breath: But I know were going to wineveryone believes it and after we do, Ill personally see your wish fulfilled. With care born of duty and remembrance, he secured the journal within a reinforced reliquarya standard-issue personal vault for Imperial soldiers, fashioned from adamantine-laced ceramite. This sacred container was designed not only to survive the carnage of war but to preserve the final words of a loyal servant of the Emperor. A sudden pounding on the tanks hull tore him from his thoughts. "Commander, you need to see this!" .... Duncan climbed from the turret with deliberate haste, meeting the wide-eyed company officer below. "You have to see this." The officer held up a shattered fragment of a Praetorian power armora gouged, bloodstained chest plate. Duncan accepted the battered chest plate and connected a data-line into its damaged interface port. Immediately, a combat recording flickered to life in his helmets HUD. .... "Looks like this was some gangs bunker. Stay sharp." "Yeah, yeah, I got it." "So your Bloodcrest gang had bunkers like this too?" The footage, captured in first-person perspective, depicted a squad of PDF infantry moving through a dimly lit, dank underground shelter. One soldiera striking figure with a red mohawkstood apart from the rest. "Why the hell arent you wearing a helmet?" "Because I want the Lord Commander to recognize my face when he looks across the battlefield." "..." The banter continued as they swept the bunker, clearing one darkened room after another. Thenthey reached the farthest chamber. As their helmet lamps flickered on, the darkness peeled away, revealing hundreds of grotesquely mutated figures, huddled together at the far end of the bunker. They were pressed against a massive, sealed dooras if they were trying to break inside. The light exposed them. The mutants turned. Panic reigned. The squad broke into a full sprint, retreating toward the bunker exit. The helmets perspective spun wildly Then, abruptly cut to static. Duncan clenched his jaw. The soldier had been decapitated mid-flight. "What are your orders, sir?" The officer asked expectantly. .... "Report this immediately. The Lord Commanders Thunderborns will handle it." The officer stiffened at the order. "With all due respect, sirthis is an opportunity for glory. Why not deploy two companies and a pair of Leman Russ? We could flush them out and wipe them ourselves." Duncan shook his head. "I desire glory too, but tell medo you have any idea how many mutants lie in wait down there? Do you comprehend what might be concealed behind that sealed Plasteel door? We cannot afford to let this spiral out of control." His tone hardened. "Tonight, every soldier will transcribe the power armor operations manual ten times. And the section on bio-scanners? Youll memorize it." Without another word, Duncan climbed back into his tank, leaving no room for argument. .... The Gang bunker exits were sealed. Imperial infantry and tanks locked the area down. A transport gunship hovered overhead, anti-grav engines thrumming in the night air. To the rank-and-file soldiers, the Lord Commanders Thunderborns were the very embodiment of the Emperors wrathunyielding and ever-present in the darkest hour. When called upon, they arrived without fail. Tonight, the one who had descended was none other than Grot. The moment the soldiers beheld his imposing figure disembarking, tension rippled through the ranks like a whispered prayer. .... Grots armor was spattered with fresh blood, his gravitic hammer slung casually over his shoulder, its surface still slick with the gore of recent combat. He had clearly just left a battlefieldand whatever he had fought, he had crushed with his favorite methodbrutal, close-quarters devastation. But then they saw his faceand relaxed. Unlike Grey, who was perpetually grim and unreadable, Grot was easygoing, almost approachable. He exchanged light-hearted banter with soldiers, laughed at their quips, and offered hearty encouragement even amidst the carnage of battle. Tonight, though, his expression bore a trace of amused incredulity. "Seriously, brothers?" Grot bellowed, hefting his grav-hammer with a casual swagger as his eyes swept over the assembled troops. "All of youwith tanks and a full company at your backcouldnt handle a bunch of mutants?" The company officer saluted sharply. "Its not merely the mutants, sir. Theres something strange" "Theyre all huddled around a single room." Grots brow furrowed in genuine interest. "Oh? Thats interesting." At first, he had assumed this was just another routine purge. Now? This was something else entirely. "Fine. Lets go together," Grot declared, adjusting his grip on the hammer. "That way, youll still get some credit for the kill." The officers grin broadened, Grot was a man of honor. If it had been Grey, he would have just walked in alone and left them with nothing. Grot ensured that his presence was shared among his brothers. .... Grot strode into the ruins, scanning the entrance to the underground complex. "By the wayIm running my gravitic shield," he remarked casually, his tone laced with the confidence of a veteran. "So stand back unless you fancy being pulverized." The soldiers behind him immediately stepped back. Activating his bio-scanner, a detailed HUD map unfurled before his eyes [231 non-human signatures.] They were densely packed, forming a tight blockade around the sealed chamber. Yet, curiously, the scanner detected no signature within that sealed room. Either its occupant was not biological in nature Or something was hiding it. Grots frown deepened. "What in the Emperors name is this?" He turned back to the soldiers with a steely resolve. "If anything appears amissrun. I have a grav-shield to protect me, but you do not." The officer nodded, the weight of the unknown settling over them as they prepared to face whatever horror lay beyond the sealed door. Chapter 34: A New Psyker As they neared the chitinous, writhing mass of mutants, the once-confident Imperial infantrymen grew tense. Even with their lasguns primed and their ceramite-reinforced armor glinting under the pale light of distant orbital flare, a deep and unshakable dread settled over them. Before the counteroffensive, these grotesque, near-unkillable abominations had stalked the dark corridors of the underhive and the derelict ruins of hive cities, tearing apart squads with an almost supernatural ferocity. Every soldier had seen, or at least heard the echoes of, comrades ripped limb from limb. To these men and women, the mutants were nothing short of monsters. Manifestations of xenos corruption, abominations that defied all natural order. But to Grot? They were only slightly thicker than other enemies after being crushed beneath his gravitic hammer. .... "BOOM!" Grot bellowed, the resounding strike of his thunderous Warhammer reverberating through the crumbling corridors, instantly drawing the malignant hordes attention. The mass of mutants turned toward him, sluggish, eyes hollow And then, as if suddenly remembering something, their bodies convulsed with feral rage. They howled, their movements jerky and erratic, a mindless wave of biomass surging forward. "Come on, you xenos bastards." Grot tightened his grip on his gravitic hammer, his jump pack roaring to life as he charged. The first two mutants barely had time to react before Grots armored bulk slammed into them. They were sent flying, their twisted forms cratering into the ferrocrete walls. And then He swung. The grav-hammer moved without pause. The sheer gravitational force of its impact pulled everything within its arc into a brief, crushing micro-singularity, sending mutants splattering against the walls like insects caught in a storm. Grot moved like a living avalanche, his brutal efficiency undeniable. Sometimes, he weaved past clawed swipes with grace surprising for his size. Other times, he shoulder-checked a mutant, sending it staggering from the force of his thruster-assisted bulk. Each staggered foe was met with a skull-caving hammer strike, their heads compressed to their waistlines in an instant. A lunging mutant leapt for his flank Grot dropped low, drove a gauntleted hand into its gut, and discharged his scatter-laser. The dense plasma bolts punched through flesh, turning organs and bone into superheated sludge. Another mutant fell. Another. And another. The slaughter continued, with Grot only activating his gravitic shield when truly necessary. When exhaustion finally set in, he holstered his hammer, raised his shoulder-mounted cannons, and erased everything in his line of fire. The carnage was absolute. .... "Thats it." He surveyed the mountain of corpses around him, the walls slick with gore, the floor littered with mangled limbs and burst viscera. The mutants were nothing but splintered bone and liquefied remains. An officer stepped forward, gesturing toward the once-blocked sealed chamber. "Sir, you might want to check whats inside that room." Grot blinked. "Ah. Right. Almost forgot." He strode toward the sealed metal door, hoisting his grav-hammer And swung. The air cracked from the impact force, but the door didnt budge. "...Huh?" A pause. Grot stepped back, adjusting into a charging stance. His jump pack ignited, sending him hurtling forward like a human battering ram. Sarch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His shoulder hit first. For the first time in his life as Thunderborn, he felt resistance. He gritted his teeth, activating his gravitic shield, attempting to crush the obstruction through sheer force But instead of shattering The walls around it collapsed. The door remained standing. "The hell?" Grot stared at it, then shrugged and simply walked around it. .... The room was silent. No mutants. No horrors. No sign of what the creatures had been guarding. Just A bed. And on it A blonde woman whose features shone with an untainted grace, unmarred by the hive-rot or the debilitating scars of radiation that so commonly afflicted the denizens of the underhive. Her skin bore the luminance of untouched starlight, her expression serene, as if she slept in the presence of something far greater than war or ruin. She was clad in an ill-fitting, tattered Imperial uniform. A human. Grots HUD scanners immediately activated, running a biometric analysis. [Skeletal structure: Human standard.] [Bio-signs: Stable.] [Classification: HUMAN, (Unmodified)] Grot exhaled. ...By the Emperor. What the hell is this? The company officer stepped forward, draping his jacket over her form. He hesitated, struck by the calm authority in her bearing. Even unconscious, she seemed to hold the room in thrall. "I dont know who she is," he murmured. "But I think we should get her somewhere safe." Grot nodded. That was the right call. He lifted her over his shoulder, carried her out of the bunker, and loaded her onto the waiting transport. Combat drones hovered overhead, ensuring absolute security. .... "We dont know her identity. No ident-tags, no gang sigils. She was unconscious when we recovered her. I wouldnt normally disturb your research, Lord Commander, but I believe you should be made aware of this." A garrison soldier escorted Qin Mo through the fortress corridors. They arrived at a reinforced well-furnished chamber, previously used by Laun. A guard stood watch. Qin Mo entered. .... The woman was awake. She sat upon the bed, a military officer beside her, offering her a glass of relatively clean water. "Lord Commander, she just woke up." The moment Qin Mo stepped inside, the officer stood and snapped a flawless Aquila salute, then exited But not before glancing back at the woman with an odd sense of reverence. Qin Mo narrowed his eyes. These were seasoned warriors. They had butchered xenos and heretics alike. Why were they treating her with respect? The only explanation She was a psyker. And she was manipulating their emotions. Qin Mo sat in front of her, meeting her gaze. He could feel it now. She was a psyker. But there was no trace of outright hostility. "You''re a psyker," he said, voice calm but cold. "Unregistered, I presume. That makes you dangerous. Civilians are a rare sight in the underhive. Were you part of a gang? A bounty hunter? Or something else?" The womans lips curled slightly. "You may call me Vanessa." She evaded the question entirely. Qin Mos expression darkened. He was about to press further when She smiled. And then She spoke. "Youve led an army that should have been annihilated." "Youve fought against impossible odds and endured." "Well done prisoner." A cold silence. In an instant, Qin Mos hand shot forward, clamping around her throat. His voice was low, lethal. "How do you know who I am? You have three seconds to answer before I burn you to ash." Vanessa choked, gasped, her hands clawing at his wrist. "Ffrom from your Thunderborn the one called Grot!" Qin Mos grip tightened. "Looks like Ill need to prioritize developing an advanced psychic nullifier." His eyes gleamed coldly. "Any last words, psyker?" Chapter 35: Tyrone’s Extermination Spray "W-wait dont be hasty!" "II can tell you more!" Vanessa couldnt read Qin Mos mind. Which meantshe had no idea what to say to make him stop. Qin Mo remained silent, his gauntleted hand radiating a searing heat. The air around it shimmered, distorted by the sheer intensity of the energy coursing through his armor. "Genestealer Patriarch its psychic powers I was the one who interfered!" Vanessa, in a desperate gamble, blurted out the truth. Andit worked. Qin Mo released his grip, allowing her to collapse onto the cold, steel-deck plating. The sound of her knees striking the floor echoed through the chamber. He stared down at her, his expression unreadable behind his war helm. "You?" His voice carried a note of skepticism. "You interfered with a Genestealer Patriarchs psychic powers?" He scoffed, as if she had just claimed she could topple a Hive Tyrant with a laspistol. A Genestealer Patriarcha being whose psychic will could impose utter dominion over its xenos brood, whose powers had been honed through generations of corruption. Its will could enslave entire worlds, bend the minds of the faithless, erode the discipline of even the most hardened warriors. And this woman was saying she had disrupted it? Buthe didnt attack again. Which meanthe was willing to listen. Vanessa coughed violently, her chest heaving as she sucked in precious air. When she finally managed to speak, her voice was hoarse but steady. "You and your Thunderborns executed the decapitation strike. I was nearby, hidden. I used my psychic abilities to disrupt the Patriarch, preventing it from unleashing its full power against you." She recounted every detail, down to the exact moment Qin Mo had delivered the killing blow. The precise timing, the minute fluctuations in the Warp, the crackling backlash of the Patriarchs severed psychic link to its spawn. Qin Mo listenedsilent, motionless. Some of these details even he wouldnt have recalled so precisely. Which meantshe had either been there Orshe had seen everything through psychic means. After all, certain psykers possessed clairvoyance. Some could even glimpse the future. Sanctioned Imperial diviners, sanctioned by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, harnessed such visions to guide Imperial war efforts. But Vanessa was no sanctioned psyker. Qin Mo pointed outside the fortress walls. "There are ten Leman Russ tanks parked outside. Crush them with your mind, and Ill believe you." Vanessa didnt even glance outside. She shook her head. "My powers arent tools. I cant just use them at will." Qin Mo exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "Fine. Lets assume you really did help me that day." His tone shifted, growing colder. "But youre a psyker. Have you been registered with the Imperium? Do you even understand how dangerous you are?" "At minimum, your classification would be Zeta-level or higher. What happens when you lose control?" His voice carried no sympathy. Years ago, he himself had been accused of being a psyker. And yet, he had never harbored sympathy for them. Because psykers were walking time bombs. It wasnt just the threat of uncontrolled warp-energy eruptions that could incinerate entire squads. It was the Warp itself. A psyker who lost control wasnt just a liability. They were an invitation. A beacon for the Great Enemy. A gateway for daemons to claw their way into realspace. If Vanessa lost control, she wouldnt just destroy the fortress. Shed doom Tyrone Hive. And if the infestation spread perhaps the entire star system. Vanessa, however, didnt hesitate. "I can help you fight the rebels." "No thanks." Qin Mo shook his head immediately. "Id rather you sit still and do nothing. What if you lose control on the battlefield?" "Then kill me." Vanessas tone didnt waver. She reached forward, grabbing Qin Mos gauntleted hand and pressing it against her throat. "Lets assume youre facing a bomb. Would you destroy it immediately, hoping it doesnt detonate? Or would you delay the explosiongiving yourself time to us it?" Qin Mo narrowed his eyes, falling into deep thought. What ifhe couldnt kill her in one blow? What ifshe lost control in her final moments? The most logical solution would be to turn her over to the Imperiums Black Ships, where the trained psyker-handlers would dispose of her properly. Butwhere in the Thrones name was he supposed to find a Black Ship right now? Finally, he sighed. "Id put the bomb inside a stasis field. Then Id study itfind a way to disarm it. That way, next time I encounter the same type of bombIll know exactly how to neutralize it." Vanessa blinked, stunned. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Thenwithout another word, Qin Mo turned and strode toward the exit. He glanced at the Guards standing outside. "Restrain her with psychic inhibitors. All of them. However many we have leftput them all on her." The Guards exchanged glances. "Are you sure, Lord Commander?" "Yes." Qin Mo nodded. "Until I find a way to defuse the bombthis is what we have to do." "Understood." The guards nodded, then turned to Vanessa. "The Lord Commander is always right This is for your safety, maam." .... Qin Mo had considered studying Vanessa to develop a Stronger psychic nullifierbut for now, he had more urgent matters to attend to. Unlike Warp-based powers, Ctan technology did not interact with psychic energy. This made psionic research painfully slow for him. His current anti-psyker technology was simply an enhanced version of the Imperial psi-inhibitor collars of the Tyrone Hive. Since the nullifier project would take too long, he shifted focus back to his Genestealer bioweapon. Andhe had finally perfected it. A liquid-based weapon. The application method was simple Spray it anywhere Genestealers might be hiding. Any Genestealer that came into contact with it would begin to dissolve. Within one to two weeks, they would liquefy entirelyreduced to a viscous puddle of organic matter, indistinguishable from the runoff of a decayed corpse. Even worse for them The dissolution process would spread among their kind. Qin Mo had rewritten the very rules of biological transmission. Normally, such contagions were influenced by environmental factors. But this weapon? A single infected brood-kin, no matter where it skulked in the galaxy, would bring ruin to its entire lineage. Imagine this A Genestealer hybrid birthed in the squalor of Tyrone Hive, one that, by some vile fortune, escapes the culling and finds its way to a distant system, thinking itself beyond his reach. Then One of its distant brood-siblings, thousands of light-years away, begins to liquefy on Tyrone Hive. And no matter how far it runs It will melt too. This was the "Tyrone Extermination Spray." The only drawback? Qin Mo was the only one who could manufacture it. He immediately began work on prototypesrefining the dissolution liquid, optimizing delivery mechanisms, and perfecting dispersal systems. .... "I read Grots mind. I know youre developing a weapon against the Genestealers. And this is what you came up with?" Qin Mo turned. Vanessa stood behind him, arms crossed, her piercing cerulean eyes locked onto his research. "A weapon that sprays a special liquid onto Genestealers?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "Why not just build a flamethrower?" Qin Mo narrowed his eyes. The psi-inhibitors were working. Otherwise, her very presence would have already triggered his innate revulsion to psykers. "Do you even understand who youre speaking to about weaponry?" Vanessas expression remained unimpressed. "Im talking to a man who just invented liquid flamethrowers." "Fire and poison have collateral damage. I needed something that only kills the targets I want dead." "I still dont see how this is different from a flamethrower" In Qin Mos mind, Vanessa was missing the point. The delivery method wasnt important. What mattered was that once deployed, the bioweapon would exterminate every single Genestealer of the same genetic strainPermanently. "You might as well let me use my psychic abilities to help you." "Try thatand Ill detonate the bomb manually." Qin Mo grabbed her by the arm, dragging her toward the exit. "See that guard? Walk up to them and tell them youre a prisoner, not a guest." Qin Mo released her, voice cold as the void beyond the stars. "Then go where you belong." Chapter 36: The Effect Aside from Qin Mo, every warrior clad in Thunderborn-pattern warplate had been deployed on deep strike operationseach venturing alone into the seething heart of heretic-infested territory. For all five of them to be deployed at once was an extremely rare occurrence. "What are the Lord Commanders orders?" Grot rumbled, his heavy footfalls echoing against the charred ground as he marched alongside Grey. His gaze drifted to the strange weapon cradled in Greys gauntlets. It bore some resemblance to an ignis-pattern flamethroweryet it was different. Unlike the others, only Grey had been entrusted with this new wargear. Likewise, Qin Mo had given only him the mission parameters, instructing him to relay them once the squad was assembled. Grey finally spoke. "The orders are simple." He lifted the weapon slightly. "This device functions similarly to a flamer, but instead of promethium, it projects a specialized liquid compound. Our objective is clearfind the heretics and administer its effects." "What?" The entire squad exchanged uncertain glances, confusion flickering in their visors. "So this is a field test for the new weapon, then?" Anruida asked, arms crossed over his chest plate. "Yes and no." Grey shook his head. "The weapon is already in its final iteration. We''re not here to test itwere here to use it. That said, we are also meant to observe its effects." The explanation did little to clarify matters. If anything, it only deepened their unease. After a long pause, Anruida voiced the most pressing concern. "This weapon is clearly designed for the purging of heretics but why target individual foes? At best, well cull a handfulwhat purpose does that serve?" Grey considered elaborating but ultimately chose not to. He was not one for grand explanations. Besides, some truths were best demonstrated rather than spoken. Though Qin Mo had permitted them to spray any heretic they came across, Grey still believed it would be more effective to target high-ranking cultists. That was why he had led the squad deep into enemy-held territory. .... The team pressed forward. S~ea??h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Twelve kilometers later, Grey came to a halt before the crumbling husk of a once-grand structure. The others immediately fell into position, weapons at the ready. Their bio-scanners detected a large concentration of heretics inside. All of them gathered in one place. Their exact activities? Unknown. "Seal every exit. No one gets out." Grey hefted his weapon and strode toward the building. Grot moved to the main entrance, his graviton hammer crackling as it primed for devastation. The others took up positions by the shattered windows, waiting for the command. Inside, the heretics remained oblivious to their encirclement. They knelt in rapturous worship, chanting in guttural tongues before a towering, four-armed effigyan impossibly beautiful male statue, its features both divine and unnatural, sculpted with an allure that defied mortal comprehension. Grey smirked beneath his helmet. "Perfect opportunity." He stepped forward, brushing Anreda aside, and steadied the weapon against the window frame. The "Exterminator" was unlike anything in the Thunderborn arsenala sleek fusion of a flamer and a precision rifle, its ominous design betraying its advanced function. Just before pulling the trigger, Grey imagined its effect Would the heretics be engulfed in a torrent of searing energy? Would they dissolve into nothingness, their bodies corroded instantly? "Stop fantasizing and fire the damn thing!" Grot grunted impatiently. Grey obliged. .... A stream of iridescent blue liquid arced through the air, striking the exposed back of a kneeling heretic. The cultist shivered, instinctively scratching at the damp spot on his robes. Then, confused, he turned to look out the window. Eye contact. Grey, without hesitation, emptied the rest of the canister and bolted, dragging a reluctant Grot with him. "Why arent we just purging them outright?" Grot complained. "Because we need to what the Exterminator truly does," Grey replied curtly. The moment the heretics spotted their Thunderborn-armored adversaries, they abandoned their prayers and charged, screaming in frenzied devotion. Grey led them on a deliberate chase, keeping just ahead while monitoring their condition. They ran for several minutes And then It began. One cultist staggered, his gait turning into a jerking, unnatural lurch. His legs swelled grotesquely, flesh distending as though something writhed beneath the skin. Another let out an ear-piercing wail as his ribcage expanded outward, bones snapping audibly before his torso ruptured in a spray of viscera. Others clawed at their own faces, their skulls ballooning, stretching. Then Their entire bodies began to bloat, stretching like overfilled sacks. Until "Pop." One by one, the heretics burst like overripe fruit, their liquefied remains pooling into sickly blue puddles. "By the Emperor" "Well," Anreda muttered, "that worked." "If we mass-produce this and integrate it into flamers," Grot mused, "we could clear entire structures with ease." The squad discussed the weapons potential, but Grey remained silent. Because he knew something they didnt. He had only struck a handful of heretics. Yet every single cultist in the building had perished. Grey finally spoke, his tone grim. "This weapon is far more potent than anticipated. This will be our first and last time using it." Grot laughed. "Because weve wiped out all the heretics in this sector, right?" Grey said nothing. He simply turned and led the squad back. .... On the transport back to base, no one dwelled on Greys ominous words. Everyone, except Grey, believed the exterminator agent would soon enter mass deployment. Then As the transport skimmed over a war-torn battlefield, Grot noticed something below. Down below, amidst the ruins A heretic foot soldier suddenly exploded into blue liquid. Grot blinked. Was it a hallucination? Thena second. Then another. And another. "Wait is someone else using the exterminator?" Grot asked. "No," Grey replied, shaking his head. "We were the only ones issued the prototype." Grot fell into deep thought. .... Deep within the fortress, Qin Mo sat in his command chamber, reviewing intelligence reports from the frontlines. Every frontline regiment reported the same phenomenon Cultists and xenos alike, dissolving mid-battle without any visible cause. Even in freshly secured zones, heretic shrines and abandoned dwellingss bore evidence of heretics liquefying on their own. The exterminators effect was undeniable. There was no need for further adjustments. The only thing left to dowas wait. For the heretics were vanishing on their own. In the meantime, Qin Mo turned his attention to anti-psyker technology. And for that He had the perfect test subject. Vanessa, the captured psyker. .... Beneath the fortress, in a sterile containment chamber, Vanessa lay strapped to a surgical slab, her eyes alight with amusement. "So tell me, Lord Qin Mo" she murmured, speaking as though this were idle conversation, as if she were not merely a test subject, bound and awaiting dissection. "How does your Exterminator work? Why does it so quickly? Why dont the heretics isolate the infected?" Qin Mo barely glanced at her. He already despised psykers. But a talkative psyker? Even worse. Vanessa smirked, sensing his irritation. Qin Mo ignored her and focused on the data streaming across the console. His bio-scan flickered in real-time, feeding complex genetic and neural readings to the cogitator banks. "Youre brilliant in biology, engineering everything you touch turns to gold." She tilted her head. "But when it comes to the Warp? Youre completely clueless." Qin Mos gaze darkened. "Shut up, witch." Yet, deep down, he couldnt deny the truth He was completely ignorant when it came to the Warp. He has some ideas how the Warp functioned from the lore But and were two different things. Vanessas smirk widened. "Let me teach you." "Get lost." Qin Mo scoffed. "Im not interested in your heretical nonsense." Chapter 37: Knowledge of the Warp "Remain humble at all times. Never allow power and knowledge to cloud your judgment." Just as Qin Mo turned his attention back to his research, Vanessa spoke. The words sliced through Qin Mos concentration like a monomolecular blade through plasteel. His fingers, poised over the cogitators interface, curled into a fist as he turned slowly to face her. S~ea??h the N?velFire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Her gaze was unnervingly composed, the glint of a knowing mind lurking behind those unnatural blue eyes. "What did you just say?" "Remain humble at all times. Never allow power and knowledge to cloud your judgment, " she repeated, her voice devoid of mockery, but that made it no less galling. Had anyone else said those wordsGrey, for exampleQin Mo would have accepted them without question. The advice itself was reasonable, even wise. But hearing it from a psyker? That was something Qin Mo found very difficult to accept. .... "Do you think Im in a good mood right now?" Qin Mo tapped his temple, his voice sharp. "My mind is filled with hatred and disgust. I cannot tolerate the presence of a psyker." He knew well that his revulsion toward psykers and the Warp was more than mere personal bias, it was a side effect of the Ctan influence coursing through him. Not all Ctan harbored an obsessive hatred for the Immaterium, but their nature was fundamentally antithetical to it. The differences between Ctan entities were greater than those between gods and mortals. Some Ctan viewed the Immaterium as a mere anomaly, a flaw in realitys design, while others despised it with an intensity that defied reason. Vanessa tilted her head, watching him as a scholar might observe an interesting specimen. You hate the Warp and psykers? she mused. Then isnt that all the more reason to study it? To develop weapons that counter it? She gestured toward the various instruments and research stations scattered around the chamber. "These devices are incredible. The physics and sciences of the material universe are like toys in your hands. But when it comes to the Warp? She offered a knowing smile. You have no talent at all. You cant even sense its existence. But I can." Qin Mos eyes narrowed, but he didnt immediately dismiss her words. Instead, he fell into deep thought. His mind warred with itselfhis logical, pragmatic side urging him to listen, while his hatred screamed at him to silence her. Finally, he forced himself to suppress his disgust. "Tell me what you know." Vanessa smiled, immediately launching into her explanation. She began with the fundamental nature of the Warp, the seething, shifting ocean of raw emotion that defied causality. Then, she moved on to how psykers channeled its energy into the material universe, how they shaped it into weapons, reconnaissance tools, and shields. She treated Qin Mo as if he were a complete novice, breaking down even the most fundamental concepts. And she didnt shy away from forbidden knowledge. She spoke of the Ruinous Powers, their domains, their influence, but not their names. Qin Mo did not interrupt. He simply listened, filtering out what he already knew and memorizing what he did not. The lecture lasted an entire Terran day. Thankfully, Qin Mos intellect was razor-sharpotherwise, Vanessa would have had to spoon-feed him every detail, which would have taken far longer. .... A psykers power does not come from within, Vanessa stated. It is siphoned from the Warp. If you had to summarize the entire process in one word, it would be extraction. Leaning forward, her eyes sparkled with anticipation. So? Any insights? Qin Mo closed his eyes in deep concentration. Psykers exist in the material universe, he murmured. If I can sever or disrupt their connection to the Warp before they draw upon its power I can render them utterly helpless. His thoughts ignited with inspiration. Without another word, he turned and began scrawling notes, formulas, possibilitieseach stroke of the pen a step toward an answer. Vanessa watched in amusement, then casually asked. By the way, does this mean youre trapped in the Talon Sector forever? Qin Mo paused, his gaze momentarily flickering with curiosity. "What do you mean?" With a smirk, she pressed on. Imperial warships use Warp drives. If you ever step into the Immaterium, wont you go mad with hatred? Qin Mo glanced at her. "Who says I have to use Warp drives?" Oh? And what do you plan to use instead? The labyrinthine passages of the The Webway? Be serious. Or perhaps an Inertialess Drive? Her smirk deepened. Sure, you might build one, but could you even survive using it? Youre not made of metal, after all." Qin Mos face remained expression as she stated knowledge unknown even to the High Lords of Terra. "I have a better idea. I just need time to research and develop it. I will find a faster and more direct method for interstellar travel." Vanessas curiosity was piqued. "Oh? Can you give me a hint? Considering I just taught you about the Warp and the Neverborn?" "No." "Ha! You havent figured it out yet, have you? Youre just being stubborn. In the end, youll still need to use Warp travel." Qin Mo didnt even look up from his notes. Yes, he said flatly. Youre absolutely right. "" Vanessa sighed, giving up on the topic. Instead, she issued a warning. "You got lucky. The heretics last battle conveniently helped you filter out the right candidates for your personal guard. Almost all of them are suitable. Except for one." Qin Mo stopped writing. He turned to her. "Who?" "Grot." Qin Mo narrowed his eyes. "Why?" Vanessas expression darkened. "He enjoys battle too much." She folded her arms. "You can dismiss my words as an attempt to sow discord, but I am speaking the truth." Qin Mo fell silent and then nodded. "Youre correct." .... He turned his attention back to his research, but his thoughts wandered to Grot. He had noticed it before. Compared to high-powered cannons or heavy scatter-lasers, Grot preferred using his graviton hammer, a weapon meant for last-resort self-defense. But Grot didnt use it as a last resort. He enjoyed crushing enemies with it. He rejoiced in pulverizing heretics into pulp, rather than simply eradicating them outright. He killed with joy. If left unchecked It was only a matter of time before Khorne the Chaos God of war took notice of him. Qin Mos jaw tightened. "Guards! Summon Grot." .... Silence. No one responded. Qin Mos expression darkened. A strange unease crept up his spine. He strode to the door and stepped into the corridor. There, sprawled across the floor His guards. Unconscious. Snoring loudly. Qin Mos eyes widened. Without hesitation, he rushed to Vanessas holding cell. Inside Someone was still imprisoned. But it wasnt Vanessa. It was the heretic Magus who had fled from the battlefield days ago. Her body was bloated and swollen, yet her vital signs remained stable. Her eyes twitched, tracking Qin Mo as he approached. In those dazed, unfocused pupils, he saw confusion. The Magus had no idea how she got here. Qin Mos fists clenched. "Vanessa She did this." In less than ten minutes, she had escaped the underground research chamber, knocked out every single guard, abducted the heretic Magus, and swapped places with her in the cell. Her psionic power was immense. At the very least, she was an Alpha-level psyker. But Qin Mo wasnt worried. Because despite everything She had not fled. At least Not yet. Chapter 38: The Forge-Master Grot was still deep in the throes of combat when the order came. A direct transmission from Qin Mo himself. "Return to the fortress immediately." Even Grey was puzzled by the sudden command, but Grot, ever disciplined, did not question his Lord Commanders will. Upon arrival, he was escorted by fortress guards through the dimly lit corridors of the underground complex. Every step was heavy with unspoken tension. When the doors to the detention chambers finally opened, Grots eyes narrowed in surprise. Qin Mo was there, as expected, hunched over a newly constructed device, its components thrumming with an eerie, controlled energy. But what caught Grots attention was the prisoner bound inside the cell. The very heretic Magus he had been hunting. .... "Isn''t this the High Magus of the Heretics?" Grot stepped into the cell with an amused expression. "How did you capture her?" Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Magus glared, eyes burning with hate, but her bindings held fast. She clenched her teeth in seething rage, yet was utterly powerless to act. Qin Mo did not answer. Instead, he simply raised a finger toward the Magus''s face. "Punch her." Grot cocked his head slightly. "Excuse me?" "Force her to use psychic powers." Grot grinned, more than happy to comply. His gauntleted fist, reinforced by the power of Thunderborn armor, swung forward A sickening crunch. Bone shattered. The Maguss skull caved inward as she convulsed violently, her body instinctively lashing out in agony. Her mouth twisted into a primal snarl, and for a brief moment The air hummed with the telltale vibrations of Warp energy. But nothing happened. The psychic backlash never came. Qin Mo simply nodded in satisfaction. "It works." Grot blinked, uncertain what had just been tested. Qin Mo gestured toward the device. "This is my latest anti-psyker instrument. It disrupts the minds of psykers within its field, suppressing their abilities entirely." Grot frowned. "How is this different from the Psyker suppressors emitters built into our Thunderborn armor?" "Stronger interference. Think of it as an advanced version. Our armors Psyker suppressors-fields weaken psykers, but this? This makes them utterly defenseless." The Magus twitched on the ground, her eyes wide with terror as she realized her connection to the Warp had been severed. Grots excitement grew as he examined the device. It was bulky, clearly a prototype, but he had no doubt that once refined, it would become a terrifying tool against psykers and Warp-spawn alike. Yet, despite his enthusiasm, a question nagged at him. Why was he called back from battle for this? .... "Starting today, you are to remain at the fortress," Qin Mo commanded. "Understood." Grot instinctively acknowledged the order,then realized what it meant. The war was still raging across the Underhive. The heretics were far from eradicated. And yet, he was being pulled from the battlefield. "I will follow orders, but may I ask why?" Grot inquired. "With my Thunderborn Armor, I can significantly accelerate our frontline advances." Qin Mos response was brief. "I have a more important task for you." Grot hesitated. More important than the war itself? But as he studied Qin Mos expression, he noticed something unusual. The Lord Commander looked troubled. Not with the war, not with the heretics, but with something far greater. Understanding that now was not the time for further questions, Grot bowed his head. "As you command, Lord Commander." Qin Mo nodded. "Good. Go get some rest." Grot turned to leave but hesitated at the doorway. "Am I to assume I wont be fighting for the foreseeable future?" Qin Mo did not answer. His focus had already returned to his work. Grot took the hint, quietly exiting the chamber. Qin Mo turned his gaze back to the bound Magus and spoke the one question that truly puzzled him. "How were you captured?" The Magus remained silent. Not that she could answer, her face was so grotesquely deformed from Grots strike that speech was physically impossible. But from her furious, bewildered expression, Qin Mo could tell She herself had no idea how she ended up here. Qin Mo frowned. Vanessa. He exhaled sharply and refocused on his research. .... Qin Mo had collapsed asleep at his workbench. Or so he thought. Because even as his body rested, his mind remained conscious, transported to a bizarre location. He stood in a lavishly decorated bedroom, its opulence starkly out of place compared to the cold steel of the fortress. A massive tree stood in the corner, its leaves an unnatural, vibrant green. Its verdant canopy pulsed with an unnatural light, its bark seeming to twist and shift under his gaze. It did not belong in this space. As he approached A grotesque face emerged from the bark, grinning wildly. "Boo! Did I scare you?" Qin Mo remained expressionless. "You find this amusing?" The trees grin vanished instantly. A moment later, its form began to shift, morphing into the shape of a young girl. Qin Mo recognized her immediately. The same girl from his previous visions. The one who had transformed into a tank, then a nobleman. She studied him with unnatural maturity. "I remember who you are now. You are the Forge-Master." Qin Mos gaze sharpened. "Another title? Last time you called me ''the Shapeshifter.'' Which is it?" The girl grinned. "No, no, noShapeshifter is me." Her form shifted again This time into Grey, clad in full Thunderborn armor. "All because of that damned Void-Dragon." she continued, voice dripping with venom. "It shattered me into fragments. My memories are incomplete and scattered. But I am the true Shapeshifter." Reality warped. The bedroom vanished, replaced by a starfield stretching into infinity. At its center, a luminous figure stood A being composed of pure blue energy, forging a sword from the very stars themselves. "The Forge-Master was the youngest and weakest of the Ctan," the girl narrated. "But that was because it never relied on its own power to fight. Instead, it created terrifying weapons, artifacts so potent that even other Star Gods sought their strength." The starfield shifted again. A purple energy entity appeared, its form indescribable. "That was me, the Shapeshifter." Her voice darkened, a bitter edge creeping into her words. "But you remained whole while I was shattered into fragments. All because you betrayed me." Qin Mos gaze hardened. "Explain." "The weapon the Void-Dragon used to shatter me?" She clenched her fists. "It was your creation." "I was not powerful on my own, but I was fluid, ever-changing. The Void-Dragon should never have been able to destroy me." Reality twisted once more. The Forge-Master stood behind the Void-Dragon, smiling as the Shapeshifter was torn apart. The vision continued Other Ctan emerged Iash''uddra, Nyadra''zatha All of them devoured. The Shapeshifter smirked. "One by one, you consumed them all." Qin Mos mind reeled. This revelation was too much. Up until now, he had believed he was merely channeling Ctan power, or perhaps fused with a fragment of one. But this? This implied something far worse. He fell into deep thought, completely unaware of the sly smirk curling on the Shapeshifters lips. Then Something felt off. Qin Mo snapped out of his thoughts. No something about this story is a lie. His eyes narrowed as he pieced it together. If the Forge-Master truly worked alongside the Void-Dragon If it was such a critical figure in Ctan history Then why had he never heard of it before? He stared at the Shapeshifter. Thenrealization struck. He stared at her. "You''re not the Shapeshifter." His voice turned cold. "Youre the Deceiver, Mephet''ran." Chapter 39: The Passage "What are you talking about? Who is the Deceiver?" Qin Mos words made the Shapeshifter pauseits ever-shifting face twisting, rippling, as if struggling to process the question. For the first time since their conversation began, it hesitated. Qin Mo had expected denial. He had expected anger. But he had not expected complete ignorance. This doesnt prove its innocence. Nor does it confirm it was telling the truth before. No Ctan should be unaware of Mephetranthe Deceiver. The cosmic trickster who had ensnared even the Silent King, whispering honeyed lies that led the Necrons into their soulless biotransference. It was Mephetran who sowed the lies that convinced Szarekh and his dynasty that the curse of flesh could be cast off in exchange for immortal, undying metal. A being so insidiously cunning that it once convinced the Ctan that the most exquisite delicacy in existence wasnt the souls of sentient beings But the flesh of their own kind. It was Mephetran who whispered the lie that led to the War in Heavens final betrayal. And even among the Ctan, it was the one that survivedshattered, perhaps, but never truly destroyed. Mephetrans cunning was legendary. It had achieved the highest form of deception It had deceived itself. Qin Mo narrowed his eyes. If this Shapeshifter wasnt Mephetran itself, then It was a fractured remnant, its mind a splintered reflection, lost in the endless void of aeons past. Or Everything it had said was a lie. "Ill give you two hints." The Shapeshifter stabilized, its form coalescing into something vaguely humanoid, raising two fingers. "Firstyour power is returning. The longer you wait, the stronger youll become." Qin Mo remained impassive. "And the second?" "Seconddont think killing those wretched bugs means the war is over." "Explain." Qin Mo didnt trust itbut information was still valuable. Even a liars words could be useful, if framed correctly. The Shapeshifters voice distorted, warping between tones and accents, shifting from a whisper to an echoing chorus. But its words were clear. "Your planet is being corrupted. You and the Genestealers are merely pieces on a far greater board. I have limited foresightbut I must warn you. The first person you see when you leave the Underhive That man worships a False God in the Sea of Souls." Qin Mo exhaled slowly. A prophecy? Or another manipulation? Qin Mo wasnt one to blindly trust supernatural entities. Buthe could appreciate a straight answer. He had little patience for the cryptic riddles of warp-touched beings. The Eldar Farseers loved to speak in half-truths, riddles laced with hidden agendas. "Appreciate the warning. Though, at this point, its less of a warning and more of a full disclosure. Ill take it into consideration." Qin Mo nodded, his expression unreadable. The Shapeshifters glowing eyes locked onto his own. "You will see that I was right." It leaned closer. "I can help you become the ruler of these humans. But you must atonefor your past betrayal." It searched his gaze. Looking for guilt. It found none. Qin Mo smirked, tapping his own temple. "You do realize my mind is still human, right?" The Shapeshifter nodded. "Then why the hell would I atone?" Qin Mos voice dripped with amusement. "I never built weapons for the Necrons. Never aided the Silent King. Why should I feel guilty for something I never did?" He laughed. "No No, no, no, no" The Shapeshifter shook its head repeatedly, its form flickering. Its face warped, twisting into a series of conflicting expressions. This this isnt how its supposed to be" "Goodbye." Qin Mo waved dismissively. "Next time you invade my mindat least announce yourself first." And with that, he tore himself from the dream. .... Qin Mos eyes snapped open, staring at the wall in deep thought. His pulse steady. His thoughts sharp. Had he been too blunt? Perhaps. But he knew better than to entertain the whispers of cosmic entities. In the grim darkness of the far future "the Warhammers universe", gods were rarely benevolent. Whether the Shapeshifter was a shard of the Deceiver or not, its words couldnt be trusted. When dealing with eldritch beings, it was always best to remain cautious. "Knock. Knock. Knock." A sharp rapping at the door interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. The door cracked open, and Klein peeked in. After confirming Qin Mo wasnt deep in research, he stepped inside. "What is it?" Klein unfolded a schematic. "I want to inspect with you the passage leading into the lower hive." Qin Mo glanced at the blueprint. "Of course." .... Sear?h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A transport gunship descended, guided by ground crews toward a designated landing zone. With the Genestealer war nearly concluded, operations had shifted toward hunting down the last remnants of rebellion. A full regiment had been deployed to secure the passage entrance, ensuring a controlled excavation. As Qin Mo and Klein stepped off the gunship, they passed an old fortress The ruins of the 44th Regiments stronghold. Once, he and Grey had defended it. Now, it stood battered and worn. "This place was supposed to be demolished." Klein gestured at the ruins. "But since you fought here as a soldier, it will remain standing forever." "Tear it down." Qin Mos voice was flat, emotionless. "I hold no attachment to this place." To him, the 44th Regiment meant nothing. It had been a prison. A place of beatings, humiliation, and servitude. Klein sighed. Then, he smirked. "I went to the academy with Burr. Whats your opinion of him?" "An idiot." Qin Mo answered without hesitation. "Only the most forsaken souls in the Imperium would end up serving under him." Klein chuckled, nodding. His agreement was written all over his face. .... They entered a massive artificial corridor. A colossal checkpoint Large enough to fit four regiments marching side by side. Its walls loomed high, reinforced with ancient adamantium plating, each slab marked with the faded insignia of long-forgotten forge worlds. The air was thick with dust and the faint tang of machine oil, remnants of an age when this passage had served a far greater purpose than mere transit. The vaulted ceiling was lined with dormant lum-globes, flickering erratically as power surged intermittently through forgotten conduits. At its center, a rail system stretched into the distance Train cars large enough to transport Leman Russ battle tanks. This was a new additionbuilt by the Logistic Drones. Because eventually, they would have to ascend into the lower hive. And logistics were vital. After traveling ten kilometers, they reached the end of the line. A figure in Thunderborn-pattern power armor awaited them. Anruida. Unlike his war-loving comrades, Anruida was a scribea scholar reluctant in battle, yet necessary in war. His task? Oversee the excavation. "As you can seeclearing this passage wont be easy." Anruida gestured forward. Qin Mo looked up. The tunnel ahead was completely sealed. Far larger than the checkpoint before A titanic structure. Two kilometers high. Seven kilometers wide. Klein studied his schematics. "Ancient engineering is incredible. We dont even know why they built such a massive passage." Qin Mos eyes darkened. "Thousandsmaybe tens of thousands of years ago The lower hive may have been a weapons factory. One capable of producing war machines beyond your understanding." Chapter 40: A Way In and Out of the Underhive "Whatever this place was originally built for, it is now nothing more than an obstacleone more ancient relic standing in our way." Qin Mos voice was cold, his gaze fixed on the titanic passage ahead. It was a monument to forgotten Imperial engineering, a megastructure of such staggering proportions that even a Titan-class war engine would seem dwarfed beneath its vaulted ceiling. The reinforced plasteel and adamantium walls, corroded by millennia of neglect yet still unyielding, bore the scars of past conflicts. Faint traces of sigils, predating even the Adeptus Mechanicus, lay obscured beneath layers of rust and grime, a testament to the lost knowledge buried within these corridors. Klein crouched down, his fingers tracing precise lines across a schematic sketched into the dust-covered ferrocrete floor. "As far as I know, this passage is lined with an ancient self-destruction mechanism embedded within its structure. Its nothing fancybut its reliable and effective." His voice was measured, technical, the careful cadence of an engineer who understood the gravity of his words. "The mechanisms are embedded demolition charges, linked to a self-repairing detonation switch." He gestured toward specific points in the blueprint. "Once activated, the first layer of charges detonatesmassive slabs of reinforced plasteel and ceramite collapse inwards, blocking the tunnel." Qin Mo folded his arms. "Thats not the real issue, is it?" Kleins expression darkened. "A second layer of thermobaric charges followsequivalent to a melta strike. The initial collapse is just the beginning. What follows is a molten flood of superheated liquefied metal, seeping into every crack and fusing the wreckage into an impenetrable masssealing the entire 900-kilometer passage. Once sealed, this tunnel might as well have never existed." He sighed, shaking his head. "By the Emperor, I cant even fathom what kind of madman designed this." With that, he handed the schematic to Anruida. ... "You know quite a bit about these self-destruction mechanisms." Qin Mo observed, his tone inquisitive, though not without suspicion. Klein grinned, tapping his chestplate with mock pride. "Of course. My family is the oldest engineering dynasty on this planet. In fact, my familys entire rise to prominence is tied to these self-destruction systems." He chuckled, recounting a tale woven into family history. "Roughly 1,700 years ago, one of my ancestors was entrusted with a classified project by the Planetary Governor himself. It took him thirty years to extract a single ancient melta charge from these walls." Qin Mo raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. What did the Governor use it for?" Klein smirked. "Tyrone Hive was in the middle of a rebellionan uprising led by an unknown cult against the planetary defense forces. Everyone assumed the Governor would use the charge for military purposes against the insurgents. Instead, he detonated it inside a rival noble houses districtmelting their entire estate into slag." Qin Mo snorted. "Seems such treachery is tradition among Governors, then." "Oh, their family has plenty of traditions," Klein laughed. .... The three men stood together, staring at the collapsed passageway. Qin Mo exhaled slowly and raised a hand Focusing his power. Klein, however, wasnt hopeful. He had seen Qin Mos fortress construction firsthanda structure built by manipulating metal in sections. Compared to the sheer scale of this blockade, that fortress was nothing more than a hut. Butit was worth trying. Qin Mo channeled his will, and the metal obeyed. The solidified wreckage began to flow, liquefied plasteel and adamantium slithering like molten rivers, sliding down the slope of the blockade Only to reform, fusing back into the walls. The damage was reversible, but the scale was insurmountable. Qin Mo gritted his teeth. This wasnt constructionthis was excavation. And excavation required a different kind of precision. At that moment, Qin Mo recalled what the Shapeshifter had told him. His power was indeed "returning". .... After half an hour, he stopped. "Pointless." Qin Mo shook his head. "This is like trying to fill an ocean with stones." Anruida frowned, not understanding the metaphor. But Klein did. And he nodded, grimly. "Is the entire blockage fused down to the last gap?" Qin Mo muttered, his mind already racing. "If I could get inside and plant melta charges in the gaps" His form distorted, the air around him warping as he phased through the metal, passing through solid matter as if it were air. Klein and Anruida watched as Qin Mo disappeared into the wallutterly unfazed by the display. .... Ten minutes later, he re-emerged. "No gaps. The molten metal filled every last crevice. Theres no way through." Klein sighed. "What if we dont dig?" Kleins mind raced. "Instead, we have people walk in formation around youjust like how you phased through the metal. Every kilometer, wed create resting chambers. Would that work?" Qin Mo raised an eyebrow. "You dont seriously think Im going to be available at all times, do you?" He gestured toward Anruida. "What happens when Im not here? How do they phase through then?" Klein sighed in defeat. "Fair point." Qin Mo fell into deep thought. Excavating the PassageOr Not? The simplest solution would be to construct excavation machines. Two options: Small-scale mining units with high-efficiency metal-cutting tools.Massive macro-drills fitted with focused energy beams to burn through the wreckage. Butjust as he was about to design the schematics, an idea struck him. Why not start developing an alternative to the Warp Travel now? If he was going to create a non-Warp method of interstellar travel anyway Why not begin with the fundamental research here and now? Start with basic principles. Develop foundational technologies. Expand them into a full-fledged scientific field. Until he had mastery over the entire technological tree. He stared at the collapsed passageway. It was no different from the distance between star systems. There was always a way to cross it. Qin Mo turned to Klein. "Not only am I not going to excavate this tunnelI''m going to reinforce it. I will make it impossible to breach or destroy." Kleins face paled. "Are we going to be trapped in the Underhive forever?" "No." Qin Mo turned toward a nearby railcar. "We will still be able to enter and exit. But not through this tunnel." He turned to the nearby soldiers. "Stop wasting time here. If the regiments cant find Rebels to fight, they should begin training drills instead." .... Qin Mo had decided. He was going to dedicate himself to a long-term research project. But firsthe had to ensure the hive was properly secured. If the Shapeshifters warnings were just a little bit true, and there was a greater conspiracy at work, then It was not enough to simply leave the Underhive. They had to prepare to remain here for the long haul. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Qin Mo issued orders to the KI-core, directing the logistics drones to construct a new city. A fortress-city, designed as an Imperial stronghold. Massive foundries and munitions factories. Defensive turrets covering every sector. Civilians would live beneath the fortress turrets, working in the factories by day and Manning the defenses during wartime. The central districts would house a bunkers A school during peace. A refuge for children during war. No luxuries like sports or fine arts. Only lessons in warfare and survival. Qin Mo wasnt building a utopia. But he would make sure his people had what they needed Food and clean waterfreely given. With everything set into motion, Qin Mo finally turned to his research. And he knew exactly where to begin. Humanitys Version of Necron Phase Technology. A means to traverse alternate dimensions. To cut across reality itself. To end reliance on the Warpforever. Chapter 41: A Razor-Sharp Tongue For Qin Mo, research and creation were the greatest forms of entertainment. His hands moved swiftly across the data panel, engraving knowledge into its interface with the precision of a Tech-Priest crafting a prayer to the Omnissiah. His eyes remained locked onto the data streams, his mind a maelstrom of calculations, processing new theories and refining his designs. Every day since he had begun his study of dimensional transit technology had followed the same pattern A cycle of deep focus, discovery, refinement. There was, however, one exception in his otherwise repetitive yet fulfilling routine He had learned the Ctans method of communication from the Shapeshifter. The Star Gods did not rely on primitive vox-transmissions or psychic conduits tainted by the Immaterium. They spoke through stellar magnetic fields, encoded within the very fabric of reality. No matter how vast the distance, if both parties were willing They could communicate instantaneously. .... ?"Hows your power recovery going? Think you can come rescue me yet? You dont actually believe I told you everything I know about dimensional technology, do you? Im just a fragmentI dont remember much. Even if I were whole, Im not a Star God like you. I remember you had a good relationship with some Ctan that specialized in technology but I forgot its name. If I remembered, I could tell you, and you could just go find it instead of struggling to learn everything from scratch. By the way, when are you leaving the Underhive?"? Qin Mo ignored the rapid-fire stream of words coming through the magnetic fields around him. Perhaps the Shapeshifter had always been this talkative. Or Perhaps it was just desperate for conversation. If it werent for the occasional useful insights on dimensional theory, Qin Mo would have severed the link long ago. .... ?"Why do you keep verifying the knowledge I give you before using it? Are you that wary of me?"? ?"Shut up."? Qin Mo snapped impatiently And the voice vanished. In the newfound silence, he continued his work Sar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Only realizing much later that he had instinctively shut off the link. The moment he thought about reconnecting, the Shapeshifters voice returned. ?"What do you plan to do after developing dimensional transit technology? Head to Terra? Show it to that psychic ape and spread the use of dimensional engines?"? Qin Mo paused. He set aside his data slate, staring at the void beyond his workstation. He had never seriously considered that question. If this were the Great Crusade era, or if the Emperor still walked among men, the answer would be obvious Find Him. Give Him the technology. Elevate humanity beyond the Warps tyranny. His human consciousness made it impossible not to want to save his own species. It would benefit both mankind and the material universe itself. Butreality was different. The Emperor was half-dead, entombed upon the Golden Throne. His flesh rotting, His will shattered, His spirit bleeding into the Warp like carrion into the mouths of scavengers. He wasnt going anywhere. And the Adeptus Custodes, along with the Imperial Palaces defenses, would never allow him near Terras heart. Which meant Even if he succeeded, how would he implement it? Convince the High Lords of Terra? What a joke. A den of sycophants and bureaucratic carrion-feeders who had long since abandoned innovation in favor of stagnation. They would sooner see humanity burn than risk losing their dominion over its ashes. ?"Humanity has never lacked creativity."? Qin Mo finally responded. ?"The Imperiums greatest struggle isnt developing new technologyits implementing and spreading it."? The Shapeshifter sounded puzzled. ?"I dont understand. If you can replace Warp travel, why wouldnt humanity immediately adopt it?"? Qin Mo scoffed. ?"By that same logic, why would the Silent King reject immortality? You lack perspective."? He leaned back in his chair, voice cold and methodical. ?"When the Ctan met the Necrontyr, the Warp wasnt as nightmarish as it is now."? He continued, his voice growing colder ?"Imagine youre not a Star Godyoure just a mortal bound by flesh and bone. You know the Ruinous Powers can reach into your mind, that every fleeting thought, every stroke of brilliance, could be a whisper from the Dark Gods. Would you still dare to use some unknown technology? Would you stake your soul on the hope that your inspiration is your ownand not the lure of a daemonic predator?"? A long silence followed. Then ?"Thats miserable."? The Shapeshifters voice was laced with distaste. ?"If humanity has fallen to such paranoia, whats the point of even existing? Might as well have the decency to go extinct."? Qin Mo laughed. A dry, mocking sound. ?"You say that, yet here you area fragmented husk. I dont see you trying to end yourself. Arent you doing everything in your power to win my favorhoping one day Ill go beg the Silent King to put you back together?"? "" The link went silent. For a long time, the Shapeshifter did not respond. Finally, it spoke again. ?"If the Forgemasters consciousness still existed alongside yours You two would get along perfectly. You both wield words like knives."? Qin Mo smirked and returned to his research. .... The Underhive knew no time. For Grey, days blurred into each other. Only when he woke up, walked to the mirror, and noticed his beard had grown long, did he realize It had been nearly 100 days since Qin Mo locked himself away for research. For those 100 days, Grey had done only one thing Hunt. He and Anruida scoured the Underhive, accelerating the hertics and xenos'' extinction. They fought until exhaustion. Rested. Woke up. And fought again. "Anruida, you awake?" Grey grabbed his vox-communicator. "Awake." Anruidas calm voice came through. "Im ready to move out whenever you are." "Grots still locked in the fortress?" Grey took a drink of water, settling into the sofa. "Still cant deploy." Anruida confirmed. "Before starting his research, the Lord Commander ordered him to stay behind and guard the fortress." Grey snorted. "Qin Mo doesnt need protection. I bet Grot was punished for something." "Who knows?" Anruida sighed. "Im suiting up. Ending transmission." .... Grey walked to the window, gazing down at the city below. As one of Qin Mos Thunderborns, he had been assigned a residence in New Kato A twentieth-floor apartment overlooking the city center. Half the fortress-city was already complete. Drones printed new buildings, working tirelessly. Civilians moved efficiently Children were delivered to education blocks before their parents departed to manufactorums and barracks. Massive holo-screens displayed Imperial forces crushing the alien rebels. Thousands of drones patrolled the city, ensuring absolute order. Grey exhaled, his breath fogging against the reinforced glass. For him, this was entertainment. Watching the city rise Watching it become something greater than the war-torn filth pit it had once been. As he observed, a transport drone appeared on the horizon Anruida stood in the open hatch, helmet under his arm, giving Grey an exasperated look. Grey chuckled. "On my way." He suited up in his Thunderborn armor, opened the window, and leaped onto the transport. "Where to today?" he asked, running diagnostics on his armors systems. "Seven hundred kilometers north," Anruida replied. "Five minutes ago, we received a distress call. A woman reported her husband missinghe vanished while exploring an ancient ruin. The garrison is busy with training exercises. Its just us." "Alright." Grey secured his weapon. "Lets go." Chapter 42: Welcome to the Underhive Though New Kato had been firmly established and most of its citizens had found their place, one truth remained unchanged The Underhive would never be free of bounty hunters. Through their service in the war, the bounty hunter guilds had earned Qin Mos favor. He had granted them a privilege rare among the Imperium: They could continue to operate as free agents, roaming the labyrinthine ruins and forgotten transit networks as they always had, so long as any recovered spoils were surrendered to the proper authorities. In exchange, their findings were converted into Throne Gelt, allowing them to purchase food, weapons, and better equipment. For them, it was a fair trade. For Qin Mo, it was a calculated investment. .... A seven-man bounty hunter squad fought in the choking gloom of a ruined transit corridor, the echoes of their gunfire swallowed by the oppressive dark. The battle was a brutal, grinding skirmish, the air thick with the acrid tang of promethium, blood, and the stale reek of decay. The wallsancient ferrocrete worn to pitted ruinwere streaked with centuries of filth and decay, carved with blasphemous symbols from a time best left forgotten. Each muzzle flash illuminated grotesque figures swarming from the depths of the Underhive. The bounty hunters huddled behind a shimmering energy shield, trading fire with an unrelenting wave of heretic mutants that slithered and crawled out of the darkness. A rogue psyker skulked in the darkness beyond, its presence twisting reality at the edges of perception, the air shimmering with warp-born malignancy. Is the bolt cannon warmed up yet?! Shes not called bolt cannon. Shes called Reina. Fine, fine! Is Reina warmed up yet? Ready. A bounty hunter lugged forward a massive, multi-barreled heavy weapon, its size nearly absurd in the tight confines of the tunnel. With a hiss of hydraulic servos, the weapons automatic stabilizers locked onto the pitted ferrocrete floor, and its barrels began their inexorable mechanical spin, their whine rising as momentum built. Then Hell was unleashed. A torrent of high-explosive shells ripped into the oncoming swarm. Warp-tainted heretics were blown apart mid-charge, their grotesque, chitinous mutations rupturing in showers of bone and black ichor. The tunnel became a charnel house, the shrieks of the heretics swallowed by the deafening thunder of the cannons wrath. Limb and sinew were shredded. Flesh sloughed away. Skulls burst apart like overripe fruit. The air filled with the screams of the damned. Occasionally, shattered bone fragments and ragged flesh whizzed toward them, but the energy shield held firm, disintegrating any stray projectiles upon impact. Yet even as they fell, the enemy kept coming in tides. Not because of strengthbut because they were already dead. The mutants crawling toward them werent healthy. Bulbous tumors swelled beneath their hardened carapaces. Grotesque cysts pulsed and oozed, leaking thick streams of necrotic sludge. Some could barely walk, staggering forward in twisted parody of human motion. They reeked of stagnation, of flesh far past the decay of the grave. They were rotting from the inside out. S~ea??h the ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The bounty hunters werent killing them. They were merely accelerating the inevitable. Then A voice. A voice that should not be heard by mortal ears. "D??????????i???????????e????????? d???????i?????????????e????????" The heretic psyker shambled forward, its body riddled with necrotic boils and warp-burned scars. Its blistered fingers clawed at the air, weaving something unseen Summon something. Something that should not exist. Yoan! the team leader bellowed. A lean, ragged-looking young man at the back rushed forward without hesitation. No orders were needed. He knew his role. The others covered him, their lasrifles burning holes into the advancing writhing tide. As Yoan closed the distance, the psykers warp energy stuttered, its channeling faltering. Its arms burst open, spewing black ichor. Then Its entire body imploded, collapsing into a liquefied mass of unnatural flesh. The moment the psyker perished, the mutants screamed And crumbled into bubbling sludge. RUN! MOVE! WEVE WASTED ENOUGH TIME FIGHTING THESE FILTH! No one stopped to loot the dead. No one stopped to rest. They ran. As if something far worse lurked behind them. .... Yoan made a mistake. He looked back. "Dont fething turn around!" The captains roar was filled with both rage and terror. But it was too late. Yoans eyes locked onto the horror behind them. It was a spider. A grotesquely swollen, chitinous monstrosity, towering over ten meters tall, its body covered in iron-hard bristles, wedged between the corridor wallsyet still moving at terrifying speed. His mind shut down. His body refused to move. Because in the Underhive The heretics werent the true enemy. The mutants born from millennia of toxic pollutionthey were. Leave him! Keep running! MOVE! The squad leader pushed forward, leading the team toward the exit. They could see light. Then The light was swallowed. Snuffed out as though a door had slammed shut. Then, it reopened. But what was revealed was not the "outside world". It was an eye. A vast, sickly glowing green eye, rippling with malevolent sentience. It blinked once, its stare suffused with unfathomable hatred. The bounty hunters froze, paralyzed by sheer terror. Something far larger than the spider loomed outside the corridor. Then A beam of searing energy tore through the tunnel, scorching the ferrocrete red-hot. Through the smoldering wound, two figures emerged. Both were clad in Thunderborn-pattern power armor. As they strode forward, their built-in las-shotguns fired as they moved, obliterating any obstructionswhether teeth, flesh, or bone alike. As they strode forward, their boots struck metal. Some of the bounty hunters had fought in the war. And the moment they saw the insignias on the armor They knew who these two were. Grey. And Anruida. With no hesitation, the bounty hunters scrambled toward Grey, hiding behind his armor like frightened children. Grey remained impassive, walking right past the petrified Yoan. Then, ten meters ahead, he activated his gravity shield. The tunnel deformed. The mutant spider imploded into paste. As the gravitational field faded, Grey turned to the others. "Why the feth are there spiders that big in the Underhive?" "W-we dont know!" one of the bounty hunters stammered. "The ruins the old tech its all twisted! There was even even a female mutant xeno!" The bounty hunters were on the verge of breaking down, their voices trembling. "Grey." Anruida smirked. "Welcome to the Underhive." Grey nodded, recalling the bounty hunter legends he had heard as a child. The Underhive wasnt just a place of danger. It was a graveyard of forgotten technology, forbidden relics, and horrors beyond reason. Now, seeing it firsthand, he finally understood Why people loved bounty hunter stories. And why so few survived to become part of them. Dont come back next time. Grey warned them, then turned to pull Yoan to his feet. But the moment he touched him, he recoiled. The man stank of death, of rot and sweat baked into his rags. Disgusted, Grey reluctantly pinched his nose and yanked him up. "Are you angels sent by the Emperor?" Yoan asked in awe. "No. Your wife sent us." Grey shoved him forward. "Go home. Buy her something nice. If she hadnt reported this, youd be dead." "It doesnt matter." Yoans voice was reverent. "To me, youre still divine messengers." Grey ignored him. As he boarded the waiting transport, he cast one final glance at the colossal spiders liquefied remains, wondering Below, Yoan stood at the tunnels entrance, gazing up at the departing ship Eyes filled with awe. Chapter 43: The Devotees After his rescue, Yoan collected his payment from the squad leader. Despite his disgraceful display in the face of the mutant spiderand the fact that he had never fired a single shothis mere presence had proven valuable. As a "Soulless", as the dregs of the Underhive branded his kind, his very existence disrupted the heretic psykers, their mind unraveling under its own unchecked power. His very being was anathema, a void where the heretics unholy gifts found no hold, an absence so absolute that the psyker''s mind had torn itself apart rather than endure his touch. Yet, this potent gift came at a steep cost: even the lowest scumborn of the Underhive recoiled at his passing, spitting after him as if to ward off a curse. A thing without a soul was not a man, they whispered. A blight, even among the damned. A gift. A curse. Forty Thrones. For doing nothing, Yoan had earned more than a PDF soldiers monthly wage. The squad leader shoved the Throne Gelt into his pocket, the weight of the coins pressing against his leg like an unspoken warning. "Stay in touch." The man sighed. "I shouldnt be telling you this, but listendont waste your money on the Devotees. And stop associating with them." His voice dropped, lower now. "If the Underhive ever reconnects with the lower Hive, the Ecclesiarchy will burn you all alive. "Understood." Yoan smiled and nodded, though the words were hollow. sea??h th N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Alright, lets move out." The squad leader waved his hand, leading the others out of the tunnel. .... After returning to New Kato, Yoan did not go home. Instead, he spent ten Thrones at a craftsmans shop, purchasing a simple piece of jewelry. The remaining thirty Thrones went elsewhere. South. To the tavern at the city''s edge. When he pushed open the doors, expecting warmth, music, the dull murmur of conversation Instead, he found silence. Every patron sat motionless, eyes fixed upon the flickering vid-screens suspended above the bar. The flickering display showed "servitor" convoys performing battlefield reclamation. There was no commentary. No music. No propaganda overlay. The "servitors" moved in eerie silence, gathering salvageable war materielincluding the corpses of fallen heretics. One "servitor" approached a writhing mutant, its machine spirit detecting vital signs. A mechadendrite extended. The creature was snuffed out instantly. A moment later, its organic remains were absorbed into the "servitors" chassis. No hesitation. No waste. No thought. This eerie tranquility pervaded the recording. The cold, methodical extermination. The unwavering collection of materials. The footage looped. Again. And again. And again. Yet no one turned away. Yoan moved carefully to the bar, placing thirty Thrones into the donation box marked with the sigil of The Devotees. Then, like the others, he sat and watched. For two hours, the pict-feed played, unbroken. Only when the last cycle ended did movement return to the room. A PDF officer emerged from behind the bar, his scarred face bearing the brutal legacy of war. His uniform marked him as a lieutenant of the Planetary Defense Forces But here, he was something more. He cast his gaze over the assembled figures, and the room stiffened. "What have you learned from this, my brothers and sisters?" His voice was calm. Detached. Absolute. In unison, the crowd responded: "We must learn from the "servitors". We must remain rational and cold at all times. We must not succumb to anger, joy, or sorrow." The call and response was like a ritual. A refrain uttered countless times before. The Devotees had watched this footage for monthsand each time, they had recited the same response. The lieutenant raised his voice. "We are the Devotees of the Lord." A shudder passed through the roomnot of fear, nor excitement. Something closer to reverence. "Though he denies it, he is a god." The lieutenant continued, his tone unyielding. "I have seen a fortress rise from the dust by his will. I have seen him create the machines that sustain us. I have seen him unleash flame and lightning upon the heretic hordes, reducing them to ash. I am a captain of the 47th Regiment. I have witnessed these miracles with my own eyes." His voice remained cold, devoid of embellishment. And yet the weight of his words was undeniable. No one cheered. No one applauded. Only solemn nods of understanding. For in the Devotees, one did not exult. One did not weep. One did not revel in glory. One learned. One was taught to emulate the "servitors". To be unfeeling, detached, and obedient. Because the founders of the Devoteeslike many in the citybelieved Qin Mo was a god. And a god had created the "servitors" that fed and armed them. To them, the "servitors" were more than machines. They were teachers. They were the ideal. Emotionless. Dutiful. Absolute. The lieutenants gaze hardened. "Share your insights." Yoan spoke first. "I was saved today." His voice shook with excitement. "At my most desperate moment, two emissaries descended from the heavens and rescued me." The others turned, their eyes glinting with quiet envy. The lieutenant frowned. "Control your emotions." His words were sharp. Yoan swallowed hard. "Forgive me. I am new" He quickly suppressed his enthusiasm, forcing his expression to match the cold detachment of those around him. The lieutenant nodded. "It is fine, brother. We all learn. We all grow." And for Yoan, this acceptance was everything. Hereamong the Devotees He did not have to endure the sneers and scorn of the outside world. Here, he belonged. The lieutenant stood, his gaze sweeping over the room. "We should have perished. Kato was abandoned. The Underhive was abandoned. Our forces were squandered on foolish assaults. Supplies ran dry. We were encircled by heretics." A pause. "But we were saved." A murmur of assent rippled through the chamber. "Saved by countless miracles. When we starved, the logistics "servitors" provided food and weapons. When we were in peril, a single request brought the Emissaries divine wrath within seconds." The lieutenants voice remained as impassive as the servitors he emulated. "The Emissaries are chosen warriors, clad in the Lords sacred armor. They obliterate the enemy with his divine fire and lightning. They, alongside the Lord, saved us all." The room nodded in silent agreement. Yoan closed his eyes, remembering the Siege of Kato. The heretics had taken half the city. Then, the Lord and his Emissaries descended. He still remembered that moment on the main boulevard He had been cowering before a heretic tank, convinced he was about to die. He felt despair. The cannon fired. Yet the shell did not explode. It did not even pierce his flesh. It rolled harmlessly to the ground. Then The Lord strode forth. A torrent of Sacred lightning reduced the tank to slag. He extended his Divine hand. "" At that moment Yoan, sumpborn scum of the Underhive felt a spark of hope for the first time. .... Even now, Yoan dreamed of that moment every night. Then "Yoan." The lieutenants voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Come with me after this." Yoan blinked. "Why?" The lieutenants expression remained unreadable. "You are fortunate." He paused. "After reviewing your records, the Lord has expressed interest in meeting you." Yoans breath caught. "R-really?!" The lieutenants eyes narrowed. "Control yourself." Yoan forced his trembling body to still. "Understood. My apologies." Chapter 44: The Star God’s Chosen Far beneath the surface of New Kato, in the deepest sanctum of the fortress, in a subterranean chamber, Qin Mo worked tirelessly. For days, he had not rested. His chamber was lit only by the glow of cogitator screens and the intermittent flare of reallty warping sparks as he tested his latest inventiona dimensional transmission device. The prototype was assembled. Now came the refinement. As he reached for a set of finely-calibrated instruments, a bell echoed through the chamber. "Enter." The heavy blast door hissed open. Grot stepped in, dragging a man with him. "Lord, this is the one you asked to see." At those words, Qin Mo halted his work. His gaze locked onto the newcomer. Yoan. The name surfaced in his memory. A PDF officer had recently filed a reporta civilian accused of being a heretic infiltrator. The reasoning? Every man, woman, and child who laid eyes upon him recoiled with instinctive dread. A primal revulsion. A divine warning, they believed. An omen that this man was an enemy hidden among them. Upon hearing this report, Qin Mo had ordered the man brought before him immediately. And now, here he was. ... "I remember you." Qin Mo narrowed his eyes, his mind piecing together old memorys. "During the Siege of Kato you were among those who fought beside me... on the main boulevard, werent you?" "Yes!" Yoan trembled, barely able to contain his excitement. The Lord remembered him. A simple soldier, a nothing, a abomination remembered by a god made flesh. Andjust like beforethe Lord did not recoil from his presence. Qin Mo pulled a chair from a nearby workstation, gesturing for Yoan to sit. Then, he dismissed Grot with a wave. "Leave us." Grot glared at Yoan, snorting in disdain. "If he tries anything, just say one word. Ill come in and rip him apart." "Relax. Hes perfectly safe." Qin Mo reassured him. Once Grot had left and sealed the door, Qin Mos expression hardened. "Tell me, Yoandoes everyone despise you?" Yes. Yoans voice wavered. Everyone except for you, my Lord. Qin Mo suddenly laughed. Not a mocking laugh A deep, genuine laugh. It left Yoan utterly bewildered. Because Qin Mo had just found something invaluable. Yoan was a Pariah. A soulless one. A blank. An untouchable. The Exempt. The Imperium feared them. The Warp loathed them. Even the High Lords of Terra had once debated whether they should be purged from existence entirely. And now, one had walked straight into his hands. "I didnt expect this," Qin Mo mused, grinning. I assumed the people shunned you because you had committed something terrible. That you had some wretched sin staining your name. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the workstation. But no Youre an Untouchable. Thinking back to the Siege of Kato, Qin Mo realizedhe had felt nothing unusual when standing near Yoan. No unease. No repulsion. No gnawing dread that the soulless ones inspired in all who possessed a soul. Even now, he remained completely unaffected. Interesting. Yoan swallowed. His voice was hesitant. "God what am I?" "Your physiology is unique." Qin Mo paused. Then frowned. "Waitwhat did you just call me? A god?" .... Yoan explained everything. The Devotees. Their doctrine. Their faith. Their worship of "servitors". Their discipline of emotional suppression. Their faith in him. For the first time in a long while, Qin Mo felt genuinely speechless. He had anticipated that, at some point, someone would deify him. Sarch* The N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But to actually hear it Even for him, it was a shock. "Your faith is meaningless." Qin Mos tone was firm. "I do not require worship. I do not need believers. Abandon this nonsense immediately." His hand reached for a nearby vox-caster, activating a direct command channel. "Grey. Take a squad to the South District Tavern. Monitor every single person inside." "Why?" Yoan asked, confused. Qin Mo considered explainingbut decided against it. Not because of their loyalty, but because their minds were already warped. The Devotees were dangerous. They modeled themselves after "servitors", striving to become cold, emotionless machines. They had become less than men, more than zealots. How many of them truly suppressed their emotions? And how many merely believed they did? If they insisted on faith, they should worship the Emperor. At least then, their souls would find sanctuary within the Golden Throne. Qin Mo? He could offer them nothing. "Tell me about yourself." If Yoan was to be of use, Qin Mo needed to understand him first. .... Yoan spoke of his life. He had only one family member. His wife. Both were orphans, abandoned in the Underhive, struggling to survive together. They had no one else. And most importantly She was an Untouchable too. Qin Mos smile widened. "Do you know of any others like you?" "None." Qin Mo nodded. "You two are exceedingly rare. In this entire Hive, you might be the only ones." Yoan hesitated. "Why does everyone find us repulsive?" Qin Mo leaned back, arms crossed. "Thats a long story. I could explain it scientificallystarting from the birth of the cosmos But ultimately, none of that matters." His gaze bored into Yoans soul. "All you need to know is thisyou are special. And to me, you are important." The words struck Yoan like a hammer. A turning point. He felt, with absolute certaintyhis life was about to change forever. .... "Go home for now," Qin Mo ordered, standing. "Tomorrow morning, I will send for you and your wife. You will both be brought to the fortress." He stepped toward the chamber doors, then turned back. "You have been chosen." Yoan trembled. "Can I can I become your Emissary?" Qin Mo smiled. "More than just my Emissary. Your role will far exceed anything you can imagine." Because Qin Mo already knew. Yoan would never be a leaderno army would follow a man they found repulsive. But a living nightmare on the battlefield? That, he could be. A walking extinction eventclad in the finest armor, wielding weapons beyond mortal reckoning. A warrior who could bring ruin to his enemies And never fear corruption. For he was soulless. Even if he screamed the names of the Ruinous Powers. They would not hear him. His Culexian Assassin. .... Yoan trembled, his eyes wide with joy and devotion. "I I" "I dont know if this is a dream or reality but I swear upon my lifeI will give you everything. If you ask for my heart, I will carve it from my chest!" Qin Mo chuckled, placing a hand on Yoans shoulder. "No need for that." He turned to Grot, who had been waiting outside. "Put him on a transport. Take him home. In the morning, bring him and his wife here." Grot grimaced. Though he detested Yoan, he did not question the Lords command. "By your will." Chapter 45: Dimensional Transmission With Yoan sent away, Qin Mo turned his full attention to the dimensional transmission experiment. The prototype apparatus was carefully transported to the testing chambera newly excavated cavern deep beneath the fortress, its walls reinforced with plasteel plating and null-field generators to prevent psychic interference. Two reinforced holding cells had been constructed at opposite ends of the chamber, their adamantium locks and stasis fields humming with power. The test subject was already secured inside the left cell. He was not a heretic priest, nor a Chaos cultist. Just a common criminal. His crime? Attempting to dismantle a drone for scrap. A waste of resources. A waste of air. By the time Grot had finished escorting Yoan to the transport shuttle, he had already returned to the lab, eager to assist Qin Mo. .... Qin Mo gestured toward a metallic backpack resting on a workbench. "Put this on him." Without hesitation, Grot grabbed the pack and stepped into the holding cell. The prisonerterrified and compliantoffered no resistance. Silent. Resigned. He slipped the device onto his back without question. As Grot exited, the prisoner even shut the cell door behind him. A sign of fatalistic acceptance. Grot squinted at the device. "Is that a grav-pack?" Qin Mo shook his head. "No. Its a safeguard." He placed his palm against the control panel, and the transmission device whirred to life. "The pack contains a locator beacon, a soul tether, and a shield generator. It ensures he will be transmitted mostly intact" Qin Mos eyes flicked toward Grot. "and that he actually arrives." Grot grimaced, watching the prisoner shift uneasily in his cell. "Sounds like complicated mag-tech." Qin Mo ignored him. He turned to the dimensional transmission device, a two-meter cube of reinforced alloy, its metallic surface etched with intricate energy conduits. As he raised his hand, thick power cables slithered from the chamber walls, locking into the machine with a mechanical hiss. "First testbegin." He activated the machine. .... Qin Mo placed his hand upon the machine, channeling his will into its systems. A high-pitched hum filled the chamber as its energy signature spiked. Calculations ran through the machines logic-engine at speeds incomprehensible to the human mind. Grots eyes locked onto the prisoner. The mans body began to distort, his outline warping unnaturally. Then "SKAAAA!!!" A bone-chilling scream tore from his throat. The safeguard pack activated, releasing a pulse of energy. Above the prisoners convulsing form, a flickering, translucent humanoid silhouette emerged Struggling. Reaching. Desperate. The wraith-like entity clawed at its own body, trying to latch back onto itself Yet it could not. But at the same time It was not fully torn away. It remained anchored, held in place by the packs energy field, trapped between dimensions, unable to fully sever, yet unable to fully return. Grot took a step back. "That that thing is his soul." Qin Mo observed the phenomenon with cold detachment. "The pack isnt working," Grot muttered. "Its workingjust not perfectly," Qin Mo corrected. He studied the soul tether for another two secondsthen raised his hand. The packs internal systems fully activated. A translucent barrier enveloped the prisoner, encapsulating both his body and his soul. Then He vanished. A heartbeat later, he reappeared inside the opposite cell. The barrier dissipated. His soul re-fused with his body. He collapsed to the floor, gasping in agony. .... "Youre not planning to use this thing to escape the Underhive, are you?" Grot asked, his voice wary. Qin Mo didnt hesitate. "Of course." To him, it was obvious. "This is only the first step. Eventually, we will use this to traverse the voidjumping between star systems." Grot paled, glancing at the prisoner, still shuddering on the floor. To him, this machine felt less like an escape tooland more like a torture device. "If the safeguards are fully active before the transmission begins, he wouldnt have felt any pain." Qin Mo explained. He approached the cell, studying the prisoners trembling form. "What did you see?" The man struggled to form words. "I I saw lines. Lots of lines." His breathing was ragged. "Then everything turned transparent." He swallowed dryly. "After that, I saw things but at the same time, it felt like I saw nothing at all." Qin Mo listened intently. Then, he reached a simple conclusion. The prisoner had been momentarily displaced into another dimension. However As a mere human, his senses were too feeble to comprehend it. It didnt matter. Because the transmission worked. .... "You got lucky," Qin Mo said, amused. "I thought youd materialize inside the wall." "What?!" The prisoners face drained of color. Only now did he fully grasp how close he had been to death. Qin Mo turned away, deep in thought. Dimensional transmission was fundamentally simple A rift is opened. The subject is pushed through. The rift closes. If the material universe was a chessboard, then normally, a piece had to move one square at a time. Dimensional transmission? It allowed someone to pick up the piece and place it wherever they wanted. The machines intelligence performed vast calculations, ensuring positional accuracy. Sar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But If there was no locator beacon at the destination, accuracy would inevitably degrade. A few meters off-course? No issue for a warship. But for a human? A few meters could mean materializing inside a wall. Or worsefusing with debris. The answer? Allow the AI to calculate for a longer duration, increasing precision. Once one person successfully arrived at the destination, they could plant a beaconensuring future transmissions had near-zero deviation. Qin Mo nodded to himself. The theory was sound. .... The lab doors slammed open. "New Kato just lost power! We''re investigating!" Klein burst into the room, his voice urgent. Qin Mo barely glanced at him. "I drained the power grid for this experiment." Klein froze. "You what?" Qin Mo didnt bother explaining. Dimensional transmission required vast amounts of energy. This test had proven it. New Kato had blacked out. And the prisoner had barely moved a hundred meters. .... "Did it work?" Klein asked hesitantly. His nerves were on edge. If Qin Mo said no "Yes. It worked." Klein exhaled in relief. "Then does this mean we can finally leave the Underhive?" "Of course." Qin Mo turned to his assistant. "In five days, once Ive mass-produced the safeguard packs, well be able to move freely in and out." Klein was elated. After months trapped below, he could finally return hometo see his family again. .... "Mobilize all military forces in three days." Kleins stomach dropped. "What? Why? The heretics are dead!" Qin Mos voice remained calm. "The heretics are dead. But the ones who betrayed us still live. I have no intention of starting a war But if someone tries to stop us when we leave the Underhive We will be ready." Klein swallowed hard. "Understood" Chapter 46: By the Emperor… For five days, the logistics drones had worked tirelessly, mass-producing dimensional transmission safeguard units under Qin Mos direct oversight. To ensure maximum efficiency and portability, he miniaturized the devices, integrating them into the power packs of standard Praetorian power armor. Naturally, the Thunderborn-pattern power armorreserved for his elite warriorsreceived an enhanced, built-in variant. Qin Mo temporarily halted further research for long-range dimensional transmission. Interstellar travel could wait. For now, the immediate objective was far simpler Turning Yoan into a warrior. .... Beyond the fortress walls, three armored figures clashed beneath a sky choked with ash and industrial waste. Grey. Grot. Yoan. All clad in Thunderborn-pattern power armor. Qin Mo watched in silence, arms crossed, recording Yoans combat data from a nearby cogitator array. "Too cowardly!" Greys snarl echoed as he fired his wrist-mounted scatter-laser, rapid bursts of searing light hammering into Yoans chestplate. "Just like when you froze in the tunnel! The only difference is" Grey fired again, the rounds forcing Yoan back step by step. "Youre not pissing yourself this time!" Yoan stumbled, trying to dodgebut Greys aim never missed. His armors shielding flared, absorbing the repeated impacts. sea??h th n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Hit number 1,420." Qin Mo noted it absently, his patience thinning. Yoan had the instincts of an Underhive survivor. But he lacked conviction. Instead of fighting back, he kept dodginga wasteful, losing strategy. He had only just donned power armorthere was no way he could outmaneuver Grey. "STOP RUNNING, YOU COWARD!" A thunderous impact. Grot had charged. His massive gauntlet slammed into Yoans chest, sending him hurtling backward. Before Yoan could recover, Grot was on himpinning him, pummeling his helmet into the ground. Each strike rattled his skull. His vision blurred. His thoughts splintered. "Enough." Qin Mo raised his hand. Grot immediately obeyed, stepping back, his glare filled with frustration. Yoan lay there, his breath ragged, his pride shattered. Slowly, he pushed himself up and removed his helmet. His face was drenched in sweat and humiliation. "I Im sorry to disappoint you." Qin Mo shook his head. "Growth takes time. Learning takes time. You simply require more guidance." His gaze shifted to Grot. He didnt need to say anything. Grot understood immediately. He grabbed Yoan by the throat, hauling him to his feet. "From now on, Im going to beat the cowardice out of you. You disgrace that power armor." Grot dragged him away. As they vanished, Grey let out a deep exhale, as if relieved of some great burden. Then, he turned to Qin Mo. "With all due respect hes not fit to be a soldier." "Not yet," Qin Mo replied. "But he will be. Grot will make sure of it." Grey frowned. Qin Mo never did anything without reason. But this? This felt like a waste of time. Grey couldnt understand why Qin Mo was so invested in Yoan. .... "And what do you think about the Devotees?" Grey stiffened. Yesterday, he had personally monitored the cult-like movement, as per Qin Mos orders. His response was immediate. "They have turned their backs on the Emperor." Qin Mo nodded. ThenGrey hesitated. "However I understand why they worship you." His voice was quiet, cautious. "You led us out of certain death. The things youve done The miracles youve performed" Qin Mo smirked. "I think Im a god too." Grey tensed, uncertain if he was joking. But Qin Mos grin widened. "I dont need their worship. And their faith makes them vulnerable to... manipulation." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Imagine what happens if theyre corrupted. If something twists their beliefs. If they suddenly turn into heretics." Grey frowned. "Corrupted by what?" Like most Imperial soldiers, Grey had never heard of the Ruinous Powers. To the common soldier, the Warp was simply a means of interstellar travel, spoken of in the same hushed reverence as the God-Emperors divine will. What lay beyond its turbulent veil was not for them to know. And that was a mercy. The truth was that knowledge of the Immaterium was a cancerous thing. The mind of an ordinary human was not built to withstand such knowledge. Even the mere act of understanding the true nature of the Warp was corrosive, like gazing into a void that stared back. To know too much was to invite damnation. The Ecclesiarchy ensured that the mere mention of its horrors would be met with purging fire, while the Inquisition ruthlessly eliminated those who delved too deep. Imperial soldiers were taught only the most basic doctrine: fear the Warp, trust the Emperor, and obey without question. For Grey, the concept of corruption was abstract. He understood treason, cowardice, the weakness of the flesh. But the idea that a thought, a whisper, a stray doubt could be a weapon more insidious than any xenos blade? That was a horror he had never been allowed to comprehend. "Forget it," Qin Mo sighed. "Just tell them they are forbidden from spreading their faith." He smirked. "Tell them I am the Emperors Angel." Grey nodded, turned, and walked away. As Qin Mo watched him leave, he rolled the phrase around in his head. Emperors Angel. He nearly laughed. If it werent for the risk of Chaos corruptionor the Adeptus Ministorum (Ecclesiarchy) hunting them downhe would have gladly accepted their worship. .... With the entire ground force mobilized, soldiers gathered to receive their safeguard units. Among them, Duncan stepped forward. He lifted his new power pack, replacing the standard model on his armor. Then, he received his orders. He would be the first. The test subject. His mission? To transmit outside the Underhive and deploy a beacon. Once the beacon was active, the entire army could follow. .... With the transmission device fully charged, Duncan stood motionless. As the process began, his safeguard unit activated, deploying a protective barrier. Unlike the first test subject, Duncan felt no pain. The Master Control AI performed rapid calculations. Then He stepped into the void. .... It was strange. Duncan could see his body But everything around him blurred. Yet at the same time He felt everything. Then Something pulled him back. .... The world solidified. His senses snapped back. Duncan was no longer underground. Behind him A vast, empty wasteland. Futher ahead A colossal, fortified checkpoint. The sealed entrance to the Underhive. And in front of him A Planetary Defense encampment. The Planetary Defense Force and the Adeptus Arbites had established a heavily fortified perimeter. The moment he appeared, the defensive line reacted instantly. Heavy bolters swiveled toward him. Hundreds of lasrifles locked onto his position. A general, flanked by Adeptus Arbites, stepped forward. His jaw nearly hit the ground. Moments earlier, all they had seen was a flickering energy rift Now, a fully armored warrior stood before them. The generals voice boomed. "Are you human or xenos?!" Duncan slowly removed his helmet, revealing his face. "I am Colonel Duncan of the 87th Infantry Regiment, First Legion." The generals expression darkened. "87th Regiment? Thats impossible." His gaze flicked toward the sealed Underhive entrance. "You should all be dead." Duncan ignored him. He raised his arm And hurled the transmission beacon behind him. The device struck the ground, its outer casing unfolding, revealing a signal emitter. The device activated, sending a powerful signal surging through the air. The soldiers on the defensive line looked at each other, bewildered. What was he doing? Duncans gaze hardened. "Were alive. "All of us." Then The sky tore open. Across the open field, rifts flared into existence. Gravity-shielded drones emerged first. ThenGrey, clad in Thunderborn armor. Thenthe rest of the army. Infantry. Tanks. Heavy artillery. Logistics drones. All battle-ready. .... The generals lips trembled. His breath shuddered. Finally, he whispered "By the Emperor" Chapter 47: Standoff "What are my orders?" Grey stood at the forefront, his Thunderborn-pattern battleplate gleaming dully beneath the cold luminance of the Lower Hives lumen-strips. His visors auto-senses cycled through enemy fortifications, mapping every weak point with methodical precision. Though the mass transmission had been successful, Qin Mo had yet to reveal himself. He remained in the fortress, deep below, analyzing the first large-scale transmission data through Greys helmet feed. "Tell them to retreat one kilometer. The forward defensive line now belongs to us." With that, Qin Mo severed the vox-link, his focus returning to his work. Grey understood immediately. This was going to be a fight. The defensive forces stationed at the sealed tunnel had been placed there for a reason. Their orders were clearno one was to breach the collapse. And now, Grey was demanding control over their defenses? Such orders would never be accepted. Grey stepped forward, raising his armored gauntlet, and addressed the enemy commander. "Withdraw one kilometer. This position belongs to the First Legion now." But Grey was ready for battle. .... "But but this line is for planetary defense!" General Barretts words faltered, laced with both defiance and doubt. Sweat beaded against his temple, the weight of the moment pressing down like a vice. Grey tilted his head slightly, the hum of his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon rising in pitch. "Defense against what?" Grey stepped closer, his armored bulk casting a long shadow across the PDF troops. "The tunnel is sealed. Who exactly are you defending against?" Barrett was visibly agitated. Becausedeep downhe knew Grey was right. This fortification had no purpose. When the tunnel had been collapsed, it had been believed that no one could ever escape from the depths. Most of the original defensive regiments had already been redeployed elsewhere. Yet nowagainst all logicthe dead had returned. And suddenly, this position mattered again. He couldnt just abandon it. .... "Cant we discuss this?" Barrett cautiously stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of non-aggression. The officers behind him watched with bated breath. "I was stationed here because we received word that the assault on the Underhive had failed. The collapse happened after we fortified this position. We werent the ones who made the decision to leave you behind. His weathered face twisted with frustration as he scanned Greys featureless visor. I understand your fury. You believe you were abandoned. His voice carried the weight of regret. "I dont know what horrors you faced in the Underhive but we are all PDF Soldiers, servants of the Imperium. We are brothers-in-arms." He gestured toward the PDF troopers behind him. Hardened men. Loyal men. "If you want to negotiatethen fine. I, Barrett, am here to speak." Grey remained silent, waiting for Qin Mos command. His plasma cannon and scatter-laser remained primed to fire. If Qin Mo ordered ithe would execute without hesitation. "He seems uninformed," Qin Mo finally spoke through the vox. "But we cannot take that risk. Fire on the tanks." Grey obeyed without hesitation. His shoulder cannon swiveled, locking onto the right flank of the defensive line. A plasma sphere erupted from the barrel, streaking through the air in a perfect arc. As it detonated mid-flight, a storm of searing energy beams rained down upon the armored column. The shockwave sent ferrocrete dust into the air. The tanks groaned, their hull plating liquefying under the intense heat. Explosions cascaded across the line as ammunition stores detonated, sending metal shards flying in all directions. .... Barrett and his officers stumbled back, their expressions turning to horror. The attack was controlledSurgical. A warning. If the plasma barrage had been aimed at their infantry instead of the tanks Barrett exhaled sharply. You He swallowed hard. Youre not attacking us directly. His voice was cautious, measured. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You actually want to talk, dont you?" .... "No negotiations." Grey leveled his cannon at Barretts chest. "Withdraw one kilometer." Barrett hesitated. Behind him, his men wavered. They did not want this fight. Worsethey were beginning to question their orders. Because they had been told That the offensive campaign was dead. That the Underhive had fallen. That there had been no distress signals. Even if they had wanted to send reinforcements, they had been informed it was too late. Yet now The dead stood before them, very much alive. Some of them were their own comrades, their former officers. How could they raise their weapons against them? Barrett turned, meeting the gazes of his troops. Uncertainty. Guilt. Doubt. Finallyhe let out a long, shuddering breath. "Fine." He turned to his officers and gave the order. The defensive line began pulling back. And the First Legion advanced. .... Unlike the Underhive, the Lower Hive was far from lifeless. The shattered hab-blocks teemed with countless eyes, peering from behind rusted grates and shattered windowpanes. Whispers drifted through the corroded corridors, voices filled with both fear and desperate curiosity. The Underhive had been a tombforsaken. But here Here, the Imperium still lived. Barrett felt no shame. If anything He felt lucky. Because despite everything these soldiers had endured, they had not let their fury blind them. As the PDF completed their withdrawal, Grey halted his advance. The standoff had begun. .... Even before Barretts forces had fully retreated, the news reached the Spire Lords. At the pinnacle of Tyrone Hive, within the Governors private gardens, the Sanctum Solis, the Conclave of the Highborn gathered. Far removed from the clattering manufactorums and mutant-infested sumps below, the Spire Lords dwelt in opulence befitting scions of the Imperiums Divine Majesty. Their air was pure. Their water was clean. Their palatial estates, sheathed in gold and gilded with relic-ivory, shimmered under artificial sun-simulators. Exotic flora and faunaunseen in the Lower Hivethrived in their artificial paradise. And today As they sat among their splendor, they debated the problem at hand. Where is the Governor? hissed Lady Vanya, her augmetic eye glinting with displeasure. Skulking in his Oubliette Sanctorum again? "You know his eccentricities." "How are we supposed to clean up his mess? He orchestrated the Marshals glorious martyrdom, purged his bloodline through the Judicum Excoriatesyet falters at crushing these dregs? "Simple. Theyre deserters. Burn their wretched souls and let the Prometheum Purge sanctify the Lower Hive like the last group." "Are you insane?" "We should go to war." "Say something, David." Lady Vanya purred. "Dont just sit there like were excluding you. Or shall we assume the Ministorum condones this leniency? Their discussion halted simultaneously as their gazes all turned toward the silent figure seated at the center. Deacon-Primaris David was the Ecclesiarchys highest representative in Tyrone Hive. He had one dutyto spread the Imperial Cult and oversee religious matters. A single word from him would be enough to brand the First Legion as heretics. And if that happened Billions of Imperial faithful would rise in righteous fury. But David said nothing. He merely traced slow, deliberate circles through the silken black fur of the creature resting in his lapa psychically-sensitive Felinid, its luminous eyes reflecting the unseen. Seeing his silence, the nobles continued their plotting. "I agreewar it is." "Not just war. Barrett must be executed for his treason." "No. We do not go to war." David finally spoke. He rose to his feet, his voice cold, absolute. "The First Legion are not heretics. Had they turned from the Golden Throne, the God-Emperors Light would have scoured them in the Underhive. The true heretics were the mutants they fought" His words hung in the air. The nobles exchanged sly glances. They knew the game: the Ecclesiarchys endorsement shielded David, just as their own greed shielded the Governors sins. Then negotiate, A Spire Lord mocked. Offer them absolution and a bullet to the skull. David turned, his robes billowing as he strode away. I shall parley with them. Under the Rites of the Merciful Blade, they will kneelor burn. As he departed, the Felinid in his arms stretched languidly, its spine arching as it let out a slow, fanged yawn. A pulse of unseen force rippled outward, causing the orchids in the garden to wither and blacken in an instant. The Spire Lords smirked. Let the zealot play mediator. Whether First Legion bowed or bled, they would profitfor in the Imperium of Man, even faith was a currency. Chapter 48: Negotiation and Terms Deacon-Primaris David, senior envoy of the Ecclesiarchy Ministorum to Tyrone Hive, descended into the Lower Hive He traveled alone. No Frateris Templar bodyguards. No Crusader-Serfs. No escort. Only the psychic Felinid cradled in his arms, its tail flicking lazily as it purred against the rosarius-laced folds of his crimson vestments. A bold statement. A show of unshakable Imperial Faith Or madness. The corridors of the Lower Hive swallowed him in their oppressive darkness. The stench of unwashed bodies, industrial fumes, and refuse clung to the air like an omnipresent fog. Every shadow in the crumbling corridors hid potential predatorsgangers and mutants. Yet none dared approach him. His presence alone, the unmistakable aura of an Imperial priest, forced them to slink away. It was not respect that kept them at bay. It was fear. .... A Lone figure Approaches Grey, stationed at the forward command post, rose from his position the moment David arrived. The two men regarded each other in silence. Davids eyes narrowed. This armor Greys power armor was unlike anything David had ever seen within the Imperium. Not the hallowed ceramite of the Adeptus Astartes, nor the ponderous servo-harnesses of the Adeptus Mechanicus. It bore no heraldry, no sanctified purity sealsonly sleek, matte-black alloys etched with gold hexagrammic micro-engravings. Techno-heresy or archeotech? Something new. Something impossible. And yethere it was. His gaze drifted past Grey, sweeping over the assembled forces behind him. Hundreds of soldiers, all wearing the same warplate, all carrying weapons of unknown design. At that moment, the armors origin ceased to matter. What mattered was the simple fact that it existed. If the Imperium did not control it, it was a blade at the throat of Holy Terra. It was a threat. .... David was the first to speak. "Are you their leader?" His voice was calm, but his mind raced. Surely, this man was the true commander of the First Legion. Grey remained silent. Two seconds later A dimensional rift split open beside them, its edges crackling with empyric static. The air itself recoiled, charged with a presence beyond mortal reckoning. A man stepped forth, his presence chilling the already frigid air. .... "Qin Mo." He spoke his own name plainly, his gaze cold and direct. David frowned at the lack of ritual obeisance, but let it pass. "David." He dipped his head slightly, speaking with measured courtesy. "It is an honor to introduce myself to a loyal servant of the God-Emperor." .... Qin Mo studied David. The man was agedperhaps two centuries old, though sustained by augmentic intervention. His body bristled with cybernetics, subtle in their integration but undeniable in their presence. A black canister was grafted into his spine, connected directly to his primary heartlikely a life-extension module. At that moment A memory surfaced. The Shapeshifters prophecy. Qin Mo almost laughed aloud. Because, from the perspective of other factions, the Imperial Creed itself was a form of heresy. So the prophecy wasnt wrong after all. .... David, meanwhile, was evaluating Qin Mo. There was arrogance in this young mannot only in his expression but in his very presence. A lack of piety. David could see it instantly. This was not a man humbled by faith. But he did not call him out on it. Not yet. .... "Who do you represent?" Qin Mo asked. The Hive and the Holy Ministorum, Davids answer was calm, assured. "Lets talk." Qin Mo turned, leading the way back to the First Legions encampment. As they walked, Qin Mo observed David closely. The priests hand idly stroked the psychic Felinid, its purring unbroken, undisturbed. That meant one thing David felt no fear. No tension. He was certain that he would not be harmed. He believed the First Legion had no interest in rebellion. That was his assumption. But assumptions were dangerous. .... In the bunker, two adamantium-reinforced chairs faced one another. Qin Mo and David took their seats. And the negotiation began. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Davids eyes swept the camp, observing the battle-hardened warriors moving with purpose and discipline. A quiet sigh escaped him. "Poor children." His voice dripped with pious pity. "What horrors did you endure in the Underhive?" Qin Mos expression did not change. "A war." He offered no further elaboration. Thenhe listed his terms. "My men are to be granted full freedom of movement within the Lower Hive. They are permitted to reunite with their families. They are permitted to relocate their families to New Kato, a reclaimed sector in the Underhive. They are permitted to trade for supplies and transport resources." Davids face remained neutral. But at the mention of relocating families, a flicker of concern passed through his features. "You intend to return to the Underhive?" "Yes." David lowered his head, thinking deeply. Right now, the only leverage the Spire Lords had over the First Legion was their families. If they allowed them to be taken to the Underhive, they would lose all control. But if he refused David sighed again. He extended his will, reaching out Attempting to probe Qin Mos mind. For nearly a full minute, he searched. Nothing. So, he turned to Grey Nothing. Davids stomach churned. Their power armor was blocking his psychic scan. That meant This wasnt just some ragtag underhive army. This was something else entirely. .... Qin Mos voice sharpened. "Speak. Yes or no?" David exhaled slowly. "Yes." Qin Mo smirked. "Good. First negotiation complete." He stood and walked away. .... As Qin Mo departed, David realized That was only the first demand. More would come. If he wanted to prevent disaster, the best course of action Was war. To brand the First Legion as heretics. To eliminate them before they became something unstoppable. But David had been a soldier once. He knew what war against Qin Mo would bring. A reckoning. .... As Qin Mo was about to vanish, David called out "You fought so hard to escape the Underhive. And now you send them back? Are they merely tools for your ambitions?" Qin Mo paused. Then, he turned back, his gaze piercing. "They are free. They choose their own fate. I force no one to return." Davids frown deepened. "A dangerous gamble. What if they all choose to stay?" Qin Mo simply smiled. Then A dimensional barrier shimmered around him. A flash of light. And he was gone. .... David stood motionless, his mind racing. This was spiraling beyond control. The Ordo Hereticus must be summoned. Yet Tyrone Hive was a speck to the Inquisition. Unless That might change things. As David turned to leave, his psychic Felinid suddenly stirred. It squirmed in agitation, sensing something. David calmed it, retrieving a small container from his robes. The Felinid purred, using telekinesis to lift a writhing white grub into its mouth. Grey grimaced through his helms vox. Cute. But its diets vile. A voice crackled through his vox. "No idea how that old bastard raised it to eat that." Chapter 49: The Deep Pit Slaves Under the agreed terms of negotiation, the entirety of the First Legion was granted unrestricted passage within the Lower Hive. For the first time in years, the soldiers were permitted to return hometo see their families, to breathe the thick, smog-tainted air of their past lives. To remember what they had left behind. They were even given the option to leave military service entirelythough, for most, the choice was meaningless. Aside from a handful of officers from noble families, the majority of the First Legion had only one goal To bring their families to New Kato, the promised haven where unlimited fresh water and food awaited them. Within two days, nearly every soldier had returned, their loved ones in tow, gathering at the sealed Underhive entrance Where, one by one, they were transmitted to New Kato. .... But not everyone found their families. Like Grot. Grey spotted Grot sitting atop a weathered bunker, his massive frame slouched, his gaze distant. Without hesitation, Grey leapt up, landing beside him. "Whats wrong, brother?" Grots voice was low, heavy. "I didnt find them." Greys expression hardened. "They lived in District Fourteen. But when I got there nothing. Our home was rusted, covered in mold. Theyve been gone for a long time." Grey knew about Grots family A brother. A sister. Survivors, like him. Strong survivors. They shouldnt have just... vanished. Grey struggled to find the right words. "Maybe maybe theyre still out there. Maybe theyre just wandering the Lower Hive, trying to get by." His voice faltered. "I dont know what to say, Grot. I just I just want you to know Im here for you." sea??h th N?vel(F)ire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Grot turned to him, his usually stoic expression unreadable in the dim lumen-glow of the Lower Hive spires above. "Did you bring your family to New Kato?" Grey nodded. "Yeah." Grot gripped his hand, knocking their shoulders together. Thensilence. No more words were needed. A heavy, unspoken understanding settled between them. .... A familiar voice broke the moment. "Come on, lets go check out District One." Grey and Grot glanced down. Klein stood below, grinning up at them. Grey raised a brow. "Klein? Thought you werent coming back." He had assumed that someone like Kleina noblewould stay in the Upper Hive. After all, New Kato was superior to the Lower Hive, but compared to the Spire Lords luxury? It was nothing. Klein shrugged, the gesture laced with something bitter. "The idiots in my family think Im insane. They refused to come to the Underhive with me." His voice dropped, the grin fading slightly. "I dont want to talk about it." No one pushed further. Instead, Kleins grin returned, lighter this time. "Lets just enjoy ourselves. We fought a war for almost a two yearswe deserve some fun." Grey frowned. "District One? Thats gang territory." For the average citizen, District One was a death sentence. Even the most hardened criminals were stripped of everything the moment they set foot inside. Klein smirke widen. "Its dangerous for most people. But for men with money and influence? Its a paradise." He stepped forward, gesturing broadly. "Trust me, well be treated like honored guests." Grey hesitated, glancing at Grot. Klein, ever the persistent one, pushed again. "Come on, Grotwho knows? Maybe your family joined a gang. This might be the best chance to find them." It was meant as a joke. But Grot considered it. His brother was strongmore than capable of surviving. If he had joined a gang It wouldnt be surprising. Without another word, Grot stood, stepping down from the bunker. Grey sighed, following him. Together, they headed toward District One. .... It quickly became apparent that the gangs of District One were eager to curry favor with the First Legion. District One was a festering artery of crime and excess, a labyrinth of twisting alleys, towering hab-blocks, and smog-choked manufactorums. Flickering neon sigils advertised everything from pleasure dens to illicit tech-markets, their glow barely cutting through the ever-present haze of chem-waste and engine exhaust. In the depths below, sump-rats the size of hounds prowled refuse-choked alleys, while overhead, rusting walkways crisscrossed the skyline, home to snipers, lookouts, and those too desperate to live anywhere else. They treated them as warlords, their mere presence enough to make the hive-scum bow. Every ganger, cutthroat, and augmetic-riddled brute they passed showed deference, their usual bravado replaced with wary obedience. Even without Klein spending a single Throne, they were treated like nobility. A womanher entire body cybernetically modified for aesthetic perfectionwas assigned as their personal guide. She led them through the neon-lit streets, ensuring they experienced the best District One had to offer. The spires above were lost in the ever-present smog, while below, the underbelly of the hive pulsed with sin and excess. It was a perfect night. Drinking. The kind that burned and left lesser men blind. Exotic foodcooked Grox meat, imported at obscene cost. The gangs of the Lower Hive were eager to impress. They met several major gang bosses, each one eager to curry favor, each one ensuring their every whim was met. Everything was free. .... For their final destination, their guide escorted them to the gladiatorial pitsone of District Ones greatest attractions. A high-class private suite awaited them, lined with silken banners and its vantage point offering a perfect view of the bloodstained sands below. Bet well, honored ones, she purred, handing them cred-sticks worth a Leman Russs weight in gelt. "Each of you has a wagering credit of ten thousand Thrones." She smiled, the faint hum of her augmetics barely audible over the rising clamor of the crowd. "A gift from the arena. Win, and youll take home far more. Lose, and you still walk away with thousand Thrones in your pocket." Klein raised an eyebrow, amused. "That much? Thats enough to feed an entire regiment for a month." .... Grot eyed the tokens, then randomly picked a name from the roster. "Heavy Hammer. Sounds good." Grey and Klein exchanged glances, then shrugged. Neither recognized any of the fighters. "Ill bet on Heavy Hammer too." "Same." Their guide logged the bets into the system with a flick of her wrist, her interface implant pulsing softly. .... As the arena lights dimmed, the vox-casters roared to life, shaking the very walls of the stadium. "Introducing tonights most anticipated fighter!" A dramatic pause. "Grox! Grox! GROX!" The crowd erupted. A monstrous brute emerged from his holding cage, his cybernetic frame gleaming under the spotlights. Two meters tall. Armor plating fused directly into his body, his Arms surgically replaced with massive blades. He roared, raising his blade-arms in challenge. The cheers intensified. Then, the announcer spoke again. "And now the fool who will be slaughtered by Grox! Heavy Hammer!" .... The second gladiator entered. Compared to Grox, he was pathetic. One arm flesh. One arm crude cyberneticsa botched, haphazard augmentation clearly done in a back-alley shop. His body bore the telltale scars and cybernetics of desperation, a man who had sold himself to survive. Klein muttered, his voice laced with disinterest. "Hes a Deep Pit Slave." "Whats a Deep Pit Slave?" Grey frowned. "Never heard of it." Klein scoffed, leaning back. "You havent heard the termbut youve seen them." He gestured vaguely at the hive below. "Some guilds manipulate people into debt. The debt is impossible to pay. And when they cant the guild generously offers a solution. They get enhanced for factory work. Cybernetic labor slaves." Grey grimaced. "And some escape, becoming gladiators. Until they die." .... Grot remained silent. The arena felt distant, the gladiators face obscured by the harsh glare of the lights. But his build his posture Something felt familiar. A slow, twisting unease settled in Grots gut, crawling up his spine like ice-cold steel. His hands tightened into fists. And for the first time that night He wasnt enjoying himself anymore. Chapter 50: Where Is the Emperor? The match began instantly. No hesitation. No testing of reflexes. Just raw, unfiltered violence. The two gladiators closed the gap, their footsteps pounding against the blood-soaked sand of the arena floor. The scent of oil, rust, and old death filled the air as the bloodthirsty crowd screamed for carnage. At exactly ten meters apart, the arena announcers voice thundered through the coliseum. "BEGIN!" Grox lunged first, a cybernetic titan of muscle and metal. Despite his hulking frame, he moved with terrifying speed, servo-motors whirring as he closed the gap in an instant. His bladed arms lashed out, cutting the air in a wicked arc. Heavy Hammer didnt dodge. Instead He offered his left arm. The monomolecular edge sliced through flesh, severing it at the elbow in a single fluid motion. The crowd roared. But it had been a trap. As Groxs blades followed through, his right leg was suddenly caught A massive pincer clamped down, locking onto it with hydraulic force. Before Grox could react, Heavy Hammers rotary servo-drill spun to maximum power And tore his leg from his body. The shriek of rending metal and ruptured flesh drowned out even the roaring spectators. Grox fell, his massive frame crashing onto the bloodstained arena floor. .... The two combatants disengaged, staggering back from each other. Grox dragged himself up, balancing on his remaining leg, viscera and metallic fluids leaking onto the sands. Meanwhile Heavy Hammer, without a word, retrieved his severed arm, stuffing it into the bolted storage compartment on his back As if this was routine. The crowds frenzy intensified. The second round began. .... "DIE!" Groxs distorted vox-grille voice screamed through the coliseum. Despite his crippled stance, he lunged forward, his dual blades poised to eviscerate Heavy Hammer. But Heavy Hammer did not retreat. Instead He charged forward as well. At first slow Then faster. Faster. His thundering footsteps shook the ground. His roar drowned out the crowds cheers. "THE BLESSINGS OF THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD ARE UPON ME!" The moment of impact was an execution. Grox didnt stand a chance. Heavy Hammer collided with him at full force, slamming him to the ground. The pincer-arm rose high And came crashing down into Groxs skull. The first blow caved Groxs face inward. The second shattered his skull. The third split bone, metal, and brain matter across the arena floor. Silence Then, a tidal wave of deafening applause. .... Heavy Hammer stood amidst the carnage, lifting Groxs mangled corpse high. "FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" The crowd screamed in rapture. The hives filthiest, most forsaken souls howled for the spectacle. Blood. Violence. Victory. This was their faith. .... Heavy Hammer did not immediately leave the arena. Instead, he dragged Groxs corpse along the outer edge, marching past the iron bars that separated the gladiators from the spectators. He paraded his kill, basking in the adulation of the hives depraved elite. .... Up in the VIP viewing deck, Klein leaned back in amusement. "That bastard is insane." He clapped, entertained. "Trading an arm just to secure a winhes completely ruthless." But Grey wasnt watching the fight anymore. His gaze was fixed on Grot. He had expected Grot to enjoy the spectacle But the hulking warrior wasnt celebrating. He was trembling. His expression frozen in shock. Then A single, booming word thundered across the coliseum. "ANTARA!" Grots voice boomed across the coliseum. "IT''S ME!" Heavy Hammer froze. His massive cybernetic head turned, scanning the crowd. His eyes locked onto a military officer standing beside two towering warriors clad in power armor. Then Grot tore off his helmet, rushing to the edge of the platform, waving frantically. Heavy Hammer stared in disbelief. He threw aside Groxs corpse and waved back with equal intensity. The two bellowed across the arena, their voices drowned beneath the deafening crowd. Grot pointed toward the gladiator entrance, where Heavy Hammer had first emerged. And with a quick series of hand signals, he sent a message only the two of them would understand. Heavy Hammers exuberance faded. His expression darkened. Then, without another word He turned and disappeared. .... As a reward for his victory, the arena tech-priests replaced Heavy Hammers missing limb. A crude electro-sword was grafted into place. The augmetic was functionalbut it was not a hand. It was a weapon, crude but a deadly one. As the procedure was being completed, the door opened. A familiar figure entered, led by the cybernetic escort from earlier. Heavy Hammer stood abruptly, the half-attached augmetic dangling uselessly from his shoulder. He dropped to one knee. "Mentor." The cybernetic woman nodded, then gestured toward Grot. "This is an elite bodyguard of the First Legions commander. He wished to meet our esteemed gladiator." Heavy Hammer pressed his forehead to the ground. "Honored Lord, I offer you my respect." "Antara I I" Grots voice shook. His entire massive frame trembled. For the first time in his life, he struggled to find words. Finally, he turned to the escort, jaw clenched. "I need to speak with him. Alone." .... The escort gave a curt nod, and the room cleared. The moment they were alone Heavy Hammer rose to his feet And embraced Grot. "Brother my brother" Grot clutched him tightly, his hands shaking. He felt the cold steel of Heavy Hammers augmetic torso, the harsh reality of what had been done to him. Sar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Crude ceramite plating rattled loosely over exposed cabling, a patchwork of second-hand bionics scavenged from a dozen fallen slaves. Beneath the plating, the flesh-to-metal grafts were rough and unclean, the telltale burns of unholy flesh-fusion visible at the seams. It was not a warriors augmentation. It was not even an PDFs standard bionic replacement. It was cheap. Brutal. A mockery of wholeness, meant only to keep him fighting for a few more miserable years. Grot could feel the tremors in his brothers framenot just from emotion, but from the erratic power surges that coursed through his unshielded circuits. Even now, Heavy Hammers fingers twitched involuntarily, the crude augmetics failing to sync properly with his nervous system. Grots throat tightened. "What what happened to you?" His voice was barely a whisper. Heavy Hammer didnt answer immediately. The two simply held each other, their massive frames shaking with silent sobs. For the first time in years, their family was whole Yet broken. Finally, Heavy Hammer spoke. "The day after you went to the Underhive they came for us. They said you defected to the traitors. Because we were kin to a heretic, we had to pay a redemption tithe500 Thrones. But a soldiers wage is barely 20 Thrones a month." Grots stomach twisted in rage. "We had no way to pay. So they turned our debt into chains. They took our sister. They sold me. She disappeared. I was sent to the manufactorums. I became a Deep Pit Slave." Grot closed his eyes, fists clenched in rage. "A week ago, I killed my overseer and escaped. I was forced into the arena. Given only two days of training before my first match. A veteran pit fighter taught me to embrace the Champion of Blood." Heavy Hammer reached into his vest, pulling out a small figurine. A gladiator holding a chain of severed skulls, a broken prisoner in the other. Grot recoiled. The blood drained from his face. "No you cant forsake the Emperor I fought beside His chosen! I saw His miracles!" Heavy Hammer met his gaze, his expression cold as the steel grafted into his flesh. "When they called you a traitorwhere was the Emperor? When they sold our sisterwhere was the Emperor? When they turned me into a slave and made me a beast for their amusementwhere was the Emperor?" Grot had no answer. Heavy Hammer gripped his shoulder. "We will find our sister. But first" A shadow passed over his ruined face. "We make the bastards pay." Chapter 51: Champion of Blood "Apologies for the interruption, my lord, but have you concluded your discourse with the gladiator? He is scheduled for redeployment in the arena." As the two brothers finalized their decision, the cybernetically enhanced guide stepped into the chamber, her servo-jointed movements near-silent save for the faint hiss of pressurized hydraulics. She barely finished speaking before Grot raised his gauntleted hand. A pinpoint blast of scatter-laser fire erupted from his wrist A superheated lance of energy punched clean through her torso. The attendant convulsed as flesh, ceramite, and augmetic plating vaporized in an instant. The air filled with the acrid stench of scorched meat and burning synth-flesh as what remained of her collapsed in a heap of smoking ruin. He reached back, unseating his grav-hammer, and with a casual toss, hurled it toward Heavy Hammer. The gladiator caught it in his pincer with an audible , flexing his augmetic grip around the weapons haft. His armor groaned as he adjusted his stance, the weight of the hammer barely registering against his colossal frame. Grot stepped forward, his power armor humming with murderous energy. Behind him, Heavy Hammer followed, the dull glow of his optics fixed ahead, his every motion the embodiment of violence waiting to be unleashed. .... Outside, the walls shuddered with the sound of approaching boots. The arena enforcers had already registered the weapon discharge. They were ready. Dozens of enforcers stood in formation, las-carbines raised and primed to fire. "OPEN FIRE!" The hallway erupted in a maelstrom of las-bolts and muzzle flashes. Searing lances of energy streaked through the confined space, each impact scarring the ferrocrete walls with blackened craters But Grot did not slow down. He marched forward, his shoulder-mounted cannon glowing hot And unleashed a storm of scatter-laser fire. The narrow corridor became a slaughterhouse. Enforcers were shredded instantly, the energy blasts punched through flak armor as though it were parchment, boiling flesh away from bone. Some barely managed a scream before liquefying into unrecognizable husks. Others twitched in death spasms, collapsing into pools of bubbling viscera. The metallic scent of scorched blood filled the air. The guards'' final screams were lost in the roar of weapons fire and death. .... A new wave of enforcers surged forth from an adjacent corridor Only for Heavy Hammer to charge forward, roaring. "FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" His servo-driven pincer spun, turning Grots grav-hammer into a brutal whirlwind of destruction. The first wave of enforcers were obliterated on impact, their bodies pulverized into indistinguishable masses of meat and shattered armor plating. Some were sent crashing against the corridor walls, bones shattering, limbs severed in an instantonly to slump into twitching, broken heaps. The rest were simply gone, their bodies reduced to chunks of ruinous flesh. .... Grot gestured toward his power armors gauntlet, offering to detach it for his brother to wield. "You want to use this?" Heavy Hammer scoffed, shaking his head. "I do not need weapons for the weak." With a disdainful grunt, he dropped his grav-hammer, letting it clatter to the blood-slicked floor. Instead He searched among the corpses, his pincer arm dragging through the ruined flesh. Finally, he found it A massive, two-handed war axe, its steel edge dented and rusted from years of slaughter. One of the favored weapons of the Underhive gangs. He hefted it, rolling his shoulders as he tested the weight. Then he grinned, his teeth flashing like a beast before the kill. "Perfect." .... More guards arrived But this time, one of them towered over the rest. A hulking slab of muscle, standing over 2.3 meters tall An Ogryn. A genetically divergent offshoot of humanity, Ogryn are the descendants of those abandoned to the crushing gravity and harsh conditions of high-G worlds. Their ancestors, once normal humans, evolved into massive, muscle-bound warriors through generations of adaptation. Their bones became denser, their skin rougher, and their intellectswell, simpler. The mutant shock trooper scratched his scarred, oversized skull, his tiny brain struggling to form words. "Ogryn gonna gonna SMASH!" Instead of finishing his sentence, he simply charged. The colossal brute barreled forward, his gargantuan fists raised A moving wall of raw, unstoppable destruction. Even Grot, clad in Thunderborn power armor, felt a rare instinctive unease. But Heavy Hammer did not falter. He roared, lifting his war axe, and sprinted forward. They collided with the force of siege engines. Flesh, augmetics, and armor slammed together in an earth-shattering impact. The Ogryns sheer weight sent Heavy Hammer hurtling backward, his armored frame slamming into the steel wall with a sickening crunch. His newly installed augmetic arm was torn clean from its socket, sparks and dark arterial blood spraying in all directions. But Heavy Hammer laughed. His face twisted into an ecstatic snarl. "FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" .... Grot raised his cannon, lining up a killing shot But his brother rushed back into the fight, blocking the firing angle. "Damn it!" Grot cursed, then charged in himself. The Ogryn swung, his fist like a wrecking ball, crashing into Heavy Hammers metal-plated skull Bone cracked. Armor dented. And yetHeavy Hammer grinned as he took the blow head-on. He hacked into the Ogryns arm, his axe biting deep. The Ogryn howled, but retaliated A second punch connected. Another rib shattered. StillHeavy Hammer kept swinging. Blow after blow landed Until The Ogryn made a fatal mistake. He raised both fists, preparing to bring them down like a sledgehammer. At that moment, Grot struck. His grav-hammer smashed into the Ogryns knee, sending shockwaves of kinetic force through its mutant frame. The Ogryn stumbled. And Heavy Hammer seized the opportunity. He leapt high, raising his axe And buried it in the Ogryns skull. .... The Ogryns massive corpse crumpled. Its head separated from its body, rolling across the blood-slicked floor. Heavy Hammer lifted it high, his face streaked with crimson, roaring: "GLORY TO THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" The remaining enforcers hesitated, their nerve breaking. Then They broke ranks and ran. Heavy Hammer sprinted after them, his metallic limbs clanking. Though he was slower than the fleeing enforcers, his rage never waned. Some shoved their comrades down, hoping to slow their own deaths. Heavy Hammer gladly obliged,. Every fallen body was hacked apart before he resumed pursuit. .... The chase led them out of the tunnels Straight into the open coliseum. The guards scattered. But Heavy Hammer no longer cared. Instead He turned toward the center of the arena, where two gladiators fought. They had been locked in a fierce duel But neither was prepared for what happened next. Heavy Hammer charged into them, his war axe flashing. They barely had time to react Before their heads were severed in a single brutal swing. .... The audience fell silent. Hundreds of wealthy nobles, gang lords, and corrupt officials sat in stunned horror. Then Heavy Hammer raised his axe, drenched in fresh blood, and shouted. PRAISE BE TO THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD! His voice was like the roar of a predator in the deep void, raw and deafening. As he lifted his gore-drenched weapon high, something small and unassuming slipped from his belt. It tumbled through the blood-slicked air and landed upright in the widening crimson pool at his feet. A tiny brass effigy of the Champion of Blood himself. The assembled crowdmen and women who had gorged themselves on excess, who had thought themselves untouchablestared, transfixed by the unholy idol. Then A few gasped, clutching at their pendants of the Imperial Creed or whispering hurried prayers to the God-Emperor. sea??h th novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. To some, the statues mouth appeared to curl into a grin. To others, the fresh blood of the slain seemed to flow unnaturally, creeping toward its feet as if drawn by some unseen force. Then A shriek split the silence. The spell was broken. Panic spread like wildfire. .... Nobles shoved past each other, trampling the weak. A woman in an embroidered dress of gold and lapis screamed as she was thrown to the ground, her silken garb torn and soiled beneath the trampling mob. A merchant-lord, bloated with years of excess, was crushed under the weight of panicked bodies, his pleas lost in the chaos. And in the eye of this chaos, Heavy Hammer grinned. His massive frame heaved with exhilaration. He turned his gaze toward the stands, toward the fleeing cattle, his mind consumed with but a single thought: more blood. He lunged forward, eager to continue his bloody worship. But before he could ascend the steps, a new line of enforcers poured into the arena. "Enough." Grot stepped forward, trying to stop the madness. "Let me handle this." But Heavy Hammer no longer listened. He rammed into Grot, forcing him back. His eyes burned with madness. His axe gleamed in the crimson light. And with a feral snarl, he declared his intent "IN THE NAME OF THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD, I PROCLAIM YOUR DEATH!" Announcement Hey everyone! ???? Just a quick updateI''ll be reducing my upload schedule to one chapter every two days instead of daily. Why, you ask? Well... 1?? I need to focus more on my studies ???? (apparently, books outside of fiction exist? Wild.) 2?? My amazing girlfriend deserves more of my attention ???? But dont worry! The chapters will keep coming, just at a slightly slower pace. Quality over quantity, right? ???? Thanks for sticking with me, and I promise to make each update worth the wait! Much love, Hemonts If youd like to support me and read a bit ahead, feel free to check out my Patreon. /TLHemont. Do you like this Novel? Then pls consider supporting me by Commenting or Rating it. Chapter 52: Punishment "Open fire! Shoot him down!" Lasguns flared, their searing beams scorching the air, saturating the arena in a relentless storm of energy. But Heavy Hammer moved like a predator. His augmetic limbs were no burdenthey were an enhancement, driving him forward with unnatural speed, turning him into a blur of slaughter. He weaved between the las-bolts, closing the distance in an instant. His war axe cleaved through armor and flesh alike, shearing limbs from bodies, sending wet sprays of crimson across the blood-soaked sands of the arena. One squad fell. Then another. Then another. And through it all He laughed. .... Grot stood frozen. Watching his brother carve through dozens of men, tearing them apart as if they were nothing. This wasnt a fight to escape. This wasnt a struggle to survive. This was butchery. And worst of all He was enjoying it. .... Heavy Hammer stormed through another set of blast doors, beheading the guards before they could react, vanishing into the depths of the coliseum. Grot cursed and ran after him. He already knew where he was going. .... When Grot finally caught up, he realized where they were The Gladiator Holding Cells. Row upon row of iron-barred cages lined the walls. Inside, doomed soulsthieves, murderers, debt slaves, and those unlucky enough to be kidnappedawaited their inevitable death in the arena. Many were already wounded, bearing jagged scars from previous battles. Grot reached for the locks, intending to free them. But Heavy Hammer was faster. With one swing after another, his war axe shattered the cell doors, tearing hinges from their frames. The prisoners stumbled forward, their faces a mix of hope and confusion. Then They watched in horror as Heavy Hammer turned And began slaughtering the wounded among them. .... "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Grots voice thundered through the stone halls, thick with rage and disbelief. Heavy Hammer barely acknowledged him, his tone eerily calm: "I am liberating them. The weak deserve release." Hammer replied, cleaving another maimed soul in half. "Better death than a broken existence." Grot felt his stomach twist. He had expected bloodshed. But this? This was madness. "Its Enough." Grot stepped forward, hand extended. "Come back with me. We can end this here." Heavy Hammer ignored him, tossing weapons to the stronger prisonersshackles, broken chains, even rusted metal pipes. He pointed down the hall. "We march. We execute every last one of them. And I will find Maya." Grots hand lowered. His shoulder-mounted cannon swiveled into place, locking onto Heavy Hammers back. "Damn you, Antara! Stand down! Youre not leaving this place." Heavy Hammer didnt even glance back. "Then kill me. Strike me down. But I will not stop. For the Champion of Blood demands it!" Grots rage snapped. "Screw your Champion!" He turned And fired. .... The beam of superheated energy tore through stone and steel, blasting a crater into the arenas foundation. But His target wasnt Heavy Hammer. It was the bloodstained effigy of the Champion of Blood. As the statue disintegrated, and the rivers of blood that had flowed so unnaturally across the arena floor halted, as though severed from some unseen wellspring. Heavy Hammer stopped. For just a moment, he glanced over his shoulder. Then He turned back and kept walking. .... Grot said nothing more. There was nothing left to say. His fury boiled over into cold, grim acceptance. He turned away. Reaching the center of the arena, he summoned a transport drone. As it descended, he vaulted aboard, signaling for extraction. Then, in a final moment of defiance, he commanded his shoulder cannon to fire once more. The blast ripped through the coliseum, collapsing sections of the upper floors, burying the walkways in rubble and fire. Only once it was reduced to ruin did he depart for good. .... As Grots transport ascended, he looked down upon the hive streets below. His stomach sank. An entire regiment of troops had surrounded First District. From the transport drones viewport, he saw Grey and Klein commanding the occupation force, securing buildings, rounding up citizens. They werent just containing the chaos. They were purging the entire district. His anger faded Replaced by a cold realization. .... Deacon-Primaris David arrived at the First Armys occupied sector. But this time He did not come alone. An escort of one hundred elite soldiers, clad in full battle armor, flanked him. David strode forward, his psychic Felinid resting in his arms, its warp-sensitive whiskers twitching at the lingering bloodshed. He found Qin Mo Not standing in command, Not preparing for war, But crouched over a strange machine, assembling components with inhuman precision. Davids voice cut through the silence. "What is that?" Qin Mo barely looked up, his focus unbroken. "A more stable, energy-efficient teleportation system." With a simple gesture, he activated the mechanism. A squad of soldiers stepped forward And vanished. Moments later, their auspex signatures reappearednow registering from New Kato Fortress. Davids frown deepened, his mind racing through the implications, weighing the boundaries of tactical innovation and heretical transgression. "You locked down the First District." His voice carried the weight of accusation. "Why?" Qin Mo did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze aside. "Grot." Grot stepped forward, helmet removed, and knelt. Davids familiar hissed, sensing the lingering bloodshed around him. David himself narrowed his eyes, rage barely contained beneath his composed veneer. "Your soldiers massacred civilians. Razed entire hab-blocks. Why?" Qin Mos expression remained unreadable, his voice steady and devoid of remorse. "His sister was sold into slavery. His brother was forced into the gladiator pits. And he is not alone. Many of my soldiers found their families in the First District. Sarch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And not as visitors." David exhaled slowly, a deliberate motion, steadying the storm within. "I was not made aware of this" "Of course you werent," Qin Mo sneered. "You werent there when my men found their kin lying on bloodstained floors, draped in rags, whispering desperate prayers to the Emperor as they suffered unspeakable torment." Davids eyes darkened. He was not a fool. He knew what festered in the Hives underbelly, the rot that spread beneath the golden banners of Imperial rule. He had simply never cared before. Now, standing before Qin Mo, standing before the consequence of that apathy, he could no longer look away. His psychic Felinid bristling. It sensed its masters mood, its unnatural eyes fixing upon Qin Mo with predatory focus. Qin Mo returned the stareand in that moment, he saw something lurking beneath those luminous irises. Cunning. Deception. A presence coiled in shadows. And in that moment, he knew. Davids loyalty was not purely to the Emperor. Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths. David inhaled deeply, taking in the sight of the First Legion forces. It was worse than he had feared. And then, in an unnervingly calm voice, he spoke. "I understand your grievances. This was a failure of the hives leadership. I will not interfere. I will declare this purge a divine punishment upon those who have forsaken the Emperors light." Qin Mo smiled. "Thank you." .... As David turned to leave, Grot felt his shoulders relax. For a brief moment, he had feared execution. But instead "Grot, remove your armor." Qin Mos voice was absolute. "You are no longer my soldier. You will be sent to New Kato. You will work, and you will serve." Grot swallowed hard Then silently obeyed. Qin Mo watched him vanish into the teleportation field. And whispered. "Better a worker than a heretic." Chapter 53: Execution Qin Mo returned to the underground sanctum via teleportation. Tonight, he did not conduct research. Tonight, he reviewed the execution order. Before him, a massive holo-screen flickered to life, the noospheric relay feeding combat footage extracted from the auspex logs of Grots power armor. The images unfolded in jagged bursts of pict-captures and vox recordingsthe chaos of the First District, the destruction of the arena, the obliteration of the so-called Champion of Bloods idol. The feed replayed each moment in forensic detailfrom the first blow of madness to the final, dust-choked collapse of the coliseum. Each scream, each rupture of ceramite and shattering of flesh, was recorded without bias, without remorse. At Qin Mos side, Yoan stood silently, arms crossed, his expression impassive as he absorbed the sequence of violence. .... To Yoan, there was nothing particularly unusual. If anything, he thought Grot had displayed a remarkable level of restraint. But Qin Mo saw something deeper. "Did you notice how Heavy Hammer lost control?" Qin Mos finger traced the screen, pausing at a frame where the berserkers Axe struck with unnatural fury, his movements more frenzied, more unhinged, than any mere thirst for vengeance should allow. Yoan nodded slowly. "Yeah, he got more violent. But thats normal, isnt it? He was taking revenge." Qin Mos gaze did not waver. "And did you see his statue? The so-called Champion of Blood?" Yoan frowned. The screen zoomed inhighlighting the crude idol, its brass features twisted into a monstrous grin, blood pooling unnaturally around its base. A cold shiver crawled over Yoans skin. "That thing feels... wrong." Qin Mo nodded, the glow of the holo-screen casting stark shadows over his face. "Because it is. "When an man gives in to his thirst for slaughter, when the act of killing ceases to be a means and becomes the end in itself... there are... entities that will take notice." He did not say the name aloud, but in his mind, the conclusion was clear Khorne the Blood God, Lord of Rage, Taker of Skulls. Most Chaos cultists never even realize what they are worshipping. The Ruinous Powers whisper in the guise of gods, ancestors, fate itselfwhatever form ensures devotion. They are insidious, offering not lies, but truths carefully shaped to ensnare the desperate and the wrathful alike. A warrior seeking justice may hear the call of an avenger-god. A ruler striving for perfection may heed the whispers of a deity of order. A scholar hungering for knowledge may unknowingly open the way for something far darker. It has happened before. Qin Mo thought of Argel Tal, the once-noble warrior of the Word Bearers, who had sought understanding and, in doing so, had torn the veil that kept the Warp at bay. He had not seen himself as a servant of Chaos, not at first. He had believed he was guided by the divine, by something greater than mere human ambition. And in the end, he had been devoured by the very power he once thought he could wield. To Heavy Hammer, the Champion of Blood was simply a god who granted him strength in his moment of despairso he offered his loyalty in return. That was how it always began. Yoan understood at once. The realization settled upon him like a heavy weight. The Champion of Blood was no mere delusion. It was an invitation. A door. And Heavy Hammer had walked through it willingly. .... "He is a problem." Qin Mos voice was calm. "And I intend to solve it." Yoan straightened, snapping into a flawless Aquila salute, his posture rigid with discipline. "Give the order, and I will execute him." "No." Qin Mo tossed a photograph into Yoans hands. "You have a different target." Yoan flipped it over And his expression hardened. The image depicted Deacon-Primaris David, his aged features half-shrouded in the dim candlelight of his sanctum. On the back, an exact location was written The Grand Cathedral of Lower Hive Tyrone. Qin Mos voice turned cold. "Kill him. And kill the creature in his arms." Yoan hesitated. "...the Jarlcat?" "Yes. It is unfortunate to waste a Warp-sensitive Felinid... but I suspect he is beyond salvation." Yoan nodded once, slipping the photo into his armors storage compartment. Qin Mo held up a small artifacta pendant, lined with glowing blue etchings, its surface thrumming faintly with latent power. "Take this. Even if I am not with you, my power will be." Yoan took the pendant without question. "I will not fail, my Lord" Then He vanished into the teleportation field. .... As Yoan deployed, Qin Mo picked up his Vox-communicator. "Grey. Get the Thunderborns ready for teleportation." A moment later, Greys voice crackled through. "We will be assembled in two minutes. Whats the objective?" Qin Mos eyes shifted to the leftmost holo-screen. A recon drone feed displayed a slum deep within the First District. A gathering of scarred, chain-wrapped men encircled a roaring figure, bathed in firelight Heavy Hammer. Brandishing a war axe, blood streaked across his augmetic frame, his voice thick with madness as he bellowed commands to his growing cult. Qin Mo exhaled. "Upon arrivalexecute every last one of them." .... The slums reeked of filth and sweat, the air thick with rot and the copper stench of blood. Atop a heap of severed heads, Heavy Hammer beheaded another wretch and lifting the severed head high, roaring to his followers. "PRAISE BE TO THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" A chorus of voices howled in response. "PRAISE THE CHAMPION!" "PRAISE THE CHAMPION!" The firelight danced against his weapon, the brass sheen seeming to pulse As if the metal itself was alive. "We are warriors! The weak are but offerings!" He turned, pointing to the last remaining survivor of his "initiation trials." A frightened wretch, trembling as a rusty laspistol was shoved into his hands. "Fight!" Heavy Hammer lunged at him. The wretch barely had time to raise his weapon Before his arm and the gun were severed in a single stroke. Before his vision faded into darkness. "FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" Heavy Hammer lifted his axe again, ready to continue his ceremony But this time, his followers did not echo him. One of them raised a shaking hand, pointing past him, eyes wide with raw terror. Heavy Hammer turned. And saw the air rip open. .... Three tearing distortions of energy ripped open in the filthy slum air. From the void, three towering figures stepped through Their Thunderborn armor gleaming, their weapons primed. One of them hurled a beacon into the center of the slums. Heavy Hammers eyes widened. He knew this armor. He had seen it before On his brother. But what he failed to realize Was that even if Grot had been dismissed, four others still wore the same armor. And the fourth Had just materialized behind him. .... "WATCH OUT!" A shouted warning made Heavy Hammer twist instinctively Just in time to evade a hammer swing meant to cave in his skull. The fourth Thunderborn was Gray. Gray had waited for the first three to deploy, ensuring the beacon locked down the area Before teleporting in at point-blank range. He adjusted his gripshifting from a downward smash to a sweeping strike. The gravitational force surged, the air distorting as the hammer struck. The entire right half of Heavy Hammers augmetic body imploded, Metal twisted. Flesh ruptured. Bone shattered. Heavy Hammer staggered, coughing black blood, yet still, he did not fall. Instead, he glared up at Gray, eyes burning with fury. "You attacked unarmed civilians." Grays voice was calm. Cold. Unrelenting. "You disgrace your brother." Heavy Hammer roared. "DONT MENTION MY BROTHER!" He stumbled back toward his followers, gripping his war axe with his remaining arm. But Gray noticed something disturbing. sea??h th ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Heavy Hammers severed arm had fused itself to his weapon Grays grip tightened on his hammer. "All unitsterminate target." The execution had begun. Chapter 54: Praise Be to the Lord of Wisdom "FIGHT!" Heavy Hammer roared, his war axe slamming into the ground, sending cracks through the blood-soaked stone. "FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" "FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!" His heretic mob howled in unison, their mutated flesh glistening with sweat and warp-ichor. Their war cries echoed through rusted hab-units as they charged the Thunderborns. But Heavy Hammer ignored them. He knew His half-destroyed cybernetic torso should have crippled him. But an unseen force filled the gaps in his broken flesh. His movements became sharper, fasterhis body surged with unnatural strength. He felt stronger than ever before. A thousand battle plans flashed through his mind. ?... Slide under Greys guard, cleave his knee, cripple him... Smash his chest, knock him off balance, then go for the decapitation...? But ultimately There was only one goal for him. Greys head. .... Heavy Hammer lunged, his war axe screaming through the air, aimed straight for Greys helmet. But just as the blade neared its mark Grey activated his gravity shield. A split second later Heavy Hammer and his war axe were crushed into pulp. A single red smear was all that remained. Grey didnt even flinch. Over the vox, he spoke: "Why cant we activate the gravity shield a second after teleportation? Otherwise, I couldve just squashed him the moment I arrived." Qin Mos voice crackled in response. "Do you even understand how much interference teleportation causes? Be grateful your armor didnt shut down completely." "Understood." Grey turned away from the remains, stepping over them without a second glance And joined the others in the slaughter. .... The remaining cultistsonly thirty survivors They knew they would die. But they charged anyway. "FOR THE CHAMPION!" The four Thunderborns stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of gold and black. Their arm-mounted shotcannons and shoulder-mounted plasma cannons locked onto their targets. Then They fired. Fifty shells per second tore through the horde. Plasma bolts vaporized flesh and metal alike. The slums themselves reshaped into a scorched, cratered wasteland. By the time the barrage ceased There was nothing left. Grey let out a quiet chuckle. "Perhaps they should have worshipped the Champion of Firepower instead." Anruida scoffed. "Hah! No kidding! For a god of war, the Champion of Blood sure is stingydidnt even give them decent weapons!" As they laughed, none of them noticed In a collapsed ruin, a trembling man clutched a second idol of the Champion of Blood. His lips moved in frantic whispers, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Greys voice turned cold. "Standard sweep protocol." Without hesitation, Anruida scanned the area. His sensors locked onto the cultists presence. His plasma cannon swiveled. A beam of searing energy erased both the cultist and his idol, reducing them to nothing but ash. "Mission complete." .... Meanwhile Qin Mo turned away from the carnage in the slums, shifting his focus to the Grand Cathedral of Tyrone Hive. Through his drone network, he observed Yoans approach. The Pariah had teleported outside the structure, his form blending into the gloom of the Lower Hives smog-choked skyline. "Find the breach point. Enter undetected." Yoans eyes scanned the towering cathedral wallsand he found it. A cracked section of stone, left by millennia of neglect, glowed in his retinal display. "Breach point confirmed." Qin Mos voice remained steady. "Good." Qin Mo activated the pendant he had gifted to Yoan. Through it, he twisted reality. The ancient wall liquefied, its structure bending like molten wax. Yoan stepped through the shifting stone And into the shadows of the confessional booth. Behind him, the wall solidified as if nothing had ever changed. For a moment, he knelt. Yoan whispered a silent prayer Praising the divine power that had just altered reality before his eyes. Then, he broke off a fragment of the wall and placed it in his pack. Qin Mos voice cut in. "Wait. Now is not the time to strike." .... Through his drones, Qin Mo observed the congregation inside the cathedral. Sar?h the Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Deacon-Primaris David stood before hundreds of faithful worshippers, delivering his sermon. "The God-Emperor is the Master of Humanity! Deny His light, and you deny salvation!" The congregation erupted in applause. Then David raised his arms, his voice twisting into something unnatural. "The God-Emperor is not only the Master of Humanity He is the Lord of Knowledge and Wisdom! The Keeper of Secrets!" For a moment The congregation fell silent. Even the mind-wiped servitors stuttered. Something about those words... Felt wrong. A title not of the Imperial Creed. Even the most fanatical zealots hesitated. Qin Mo grinned, recording the sermon for future use. The guard captain flinched, stepping forward immediately. "Cease your speech, Deacon." David staggered, suddenly dazed. "II''ve been feeling unwell I wasn''t thinking clearly" "That is no excuse." The guard captain leaned in close, voice low. "Talon I is not yet ours. Choose your words carefully." David nodded weaklybut his unease only worsened. Even his personal bodyguard tensed, as if sensing an unseen force. Then His Jarlcat suddenly bolted toward him, leaping into his arms, its fur bristling. The creature trembled violently, eyes wide with sheer terror. Davids blood ran cold. Something was very, very wrong. He turned And ran. He barely managed two steps before his legs gave out. He collapsed onto the stone floor. His Jarlcat shrieked as it was crushed beneath him. "M-My Lord of Wisdom Save me" David clutched his chest, his body convulsing. His pupils dilated to unnatural proportions. His Jarlcat let out a final, choked cry And fell still. .... "...Should I strike now?" Yoan asked hidden in the confessionals shadowed rafters. Qin Mo smirked. "No need. Your job is done." David had died on his own. Or rather David had died because of Yoans presence. As a Pariah, Yoans null-aura severed Tzeentchs thread from David. His mere presence snuffing the warp-flame in Davids soul like a Culexus Assassins gaze. "Did I just kill him?" Yoan breathed, clutching his pendant. "Yes. Now return." With a single button press Yoan vanished. The Imperiums judgment was complete. .... Qin Mo mused. Chapter 55: The Seeds of War The teleportation field shimmered as Grey materialized inside the fortress, stepping out of the portal with practiced ease. Heavy Hammer was dead. The slums of District One had been purged. Two objectives, two successful missions. Yet, as Grey removed his helmet and sat across from Qin Mo, his jaw tensedas if something weighed heavily on him. Qin Mo barely glanced up from his work. "If you have something to say, say it." Grey exhaled, hesitatingthen turned to Yoan. "Uh have you two eaten yet?" Yoan gave him a blank stare. Qin Mo set his tools down. "Grey. Were not just superior and subordinate. Were brothers-in-arms. Speak your mind." Grey exhaled slowly. "Did I just kill Grots brother?" Qin Mo didn''t answer immediately. He simply held Greys gaze. The realization settled in. Greys stomach twisted. At the time, Heavy Hammer had been just another cultist leadera madman screaming praises to a false god, slaughtering civilians in the streets. But now? Now, he understood. The man he had executedno, crushed into a smear of flesh and metalwas none other than Grots blood brother. And to make matters worse Before the killing blow, he had mocked him. Grey swallowed hard. At the time, it felt like the right thing to say. "He was murdering civilians in the slumsI I had no choice," he muttered, voice uncertain. "But Grot I" The words felt empty. Like an excuse. Qin Mo raised a hand, silencing him. He understood Grays internal conflict. On one hand, he knew what he did was right. On the other, he felt guilty for executing Grots brother. And sooner or later, Grot would find out. "This truth is known only to us." He leaned forward, voice unwavering. "So, heres the plan." .... Grey and Yoan listened intently. "We''ll tell Grot that his brother did indeed diebut not by execution. Instead, he fell in battle against the gang lords of District One. A warriors death. A heros death. One that saved many lives." Grey immediately nodded. This was exactly what he had wanted to ask. It felt right. But Yoan frowned. "Lying isn''t that wrong?" "It is." Grey hesitated. "Deceiving Grot it feels dishonorable." Qin Mos gaze hardened. "Then give him the truth. Tell him his brother was corrupted. That he abandoned the Emperor and started worshiping something else. That he butchered innocentsnot warriors, not enemies, but unarmed civilians. Tell him his brother was beyond saving." Silence. Neither Grey nor Yoan could answer. Qin Mo sighed. "He wouldnt accept it. Hed demand to know why. Why did his brother go mad? Why did he slaughter civilians? Why did he suddenly turn into a zealot for an unseen god? Can either of you give him an answer hell believe? An answer hell accept?" Grey clenched his fists. .... Yoan looked away. They couldnt. Yoan knew what Chaos was. But Grot? A man who thrived in battle, who relished the thrill of the fight? What if he learned about Khorne? Would he resistor would he embrace it? "Its settled," Qin Mo said at last. "The lie is mercy." And with that, the discussion ended. .... Qin Mo turned to his next taskconstructing a gene-scanning device to find Grots last surviving family memberhis sister, Maya. Using DNA matching, drones would scan the entire Lower Hive until they located her. Only then may Grot''s family be reunited. .... Grey, however, remained seated. His fingers drummed against the table, his mind racing. Then, he spoke again. "We''re going to war with the Hive, aren''t we?" Qin Mo looked up. Then, without hesitation "Yes." Everything pointed to it. The assault on the Underhive had never been meant to succeed. They had been sent to die. And if one Ecclesiarch was tainted, how many more had fallen? The entire assault on the Underhive had likely been a Chaos plot from the start. And now, with Davids last moments recorded, they had proof. "Talon I is not yet ours. Choose your words carefully." The recording played over the vox, the guard captains voice eerily calm. Grey furrowed his brow. Then, a notification flashed inside his helmetYoan had sent him a classified report. After decrypting it, the full assassination log appeared. For the first time, Grey saw what Yoan had done. And now, there was no doubt left. This wasnt just a war with the Hive Lords. It was something bigger. "I had Yoan eliminate David for one reason," Qin Mo said. "Because he wasnt an Imperial loyalist. He was part of something else." Grey didnt question it. He believed it instantly. "Then that means We''re not just fighting the Hive. Were fighting Davids faction too. Where is his true stronghold?" Qin Mo smirked. "There are three planets in the Talon system. If its not Tyrone Hive, then its one of the other two. Maybe both." Grey didnt look surprised. Just thoughtful. Then, he grinned. "If a fleet comes, you can invent something to take care of it, right?" Qin Mo smacked him across the helmet. "What do you think I am, a wishing machine?" Grey laughed. "Then well just have to teleport onto their ships and fight to the death." Qin Mo shook his head. "No need to be dramatic. Were building a shipyard." Grey blinked. Sar?h the ovelFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "A shipyard?" "In the Underhive," Qin Mo continued. "Once we seize orbital control, well teleport the entire shipyard into orbit. Then well mass-produce warships." Grey stared. "A shipyard that bigcan it even be teleported?" Qin Mo smirked. "You thought teleportation was just for infantry?" "Heh. Fair enough." Gray finally relaxed. .... Qin Mo leaned back. "We need to expand our forces. Deploy water purification systems across the Hive. Once thats donebegin recruitment. All recruits will be sent to the Underhive for training. Any who display strange beliefs" He paused. "Will be screened." Grey exhaled. "What if we lose control of the purified water zones? What if the enemy takes them?" "Let them drink all the water they want." Qin Mos eyes gleamed. "It wont help them break our gravity shields or destroy our tanks. Even now, with our current forces, we can conquer the Hiveeven if they outnumber us tenfold." Grey and Yoan exchanged glances. Then, as one, they saluted. "Understood." They turned to leave. And with thatwar preparations began. Chapter 56: The Orbital Shipyard Project Across the sprawling expanse of Hive Tyrone, Grays forces deployed water purification systems, offering clean drinking water to the massesan act of mercy that served a dual purpose: it bolstered the favor of the downtrodden masses while subtly recruiting those who sought a glimmer of hope in the darkness. The promise of sustenance and the chance to serve a new power was a powerful motivator in a Hive teeming with despair. Throughout the lower levels, automated drones continued their search for Maya, scanning thousands of civilians for gene-matching data. Everything was progressing steadily. The Hive had quieted. No heretic uprisings. No sudden attacks. But Qin Mo knew better. Silence before war was merely the inhale before the killing blow. And so, he turned his focus to the next phase of their expansion The Orbital Shipyard Project. Sarch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. .... A transport drone soared through the endless abyss of the Underhive, carrying Qin Mo, Klein, and Anruida toward their next objective. Its thrusters hummed softly, navigating the cavernous ruins as the three men reviewed terrain scans in real time. "You know," Klein muttered, scrolling through the data feeds, "we havent heard much about the heretics lately." "Of course not," Anruida replied dryly. "Theyve been exterminated like vermin. Their blood has fertilized the soil of the Underhive." "A shame, really," Klein sighed dramatically. "One crisis ends, and another begins." Neither of them had to elaborate. They all knewthe real war hadnt started yet. The transport drone pulsed with mechanical chimes, releasing terrain-scanning waves into the darkness. Every 1,000 kilometers, it would halt, map the area, and transmit the data to their onboard Central Ai Core, which filtered out unsuitable sites. None of them needed to personally check the scans But Qin Mo enjoyed being thorough. .... Klein turned away from the data feeds, glancing at Qin Mo with visible skepticism. "Is this even possible?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "A shipyard isnt a manufactorum. Its massive. You cant just print one like a lasgun. And more importantlycan it even be teleported into orbit?" "Trust me," Qin Mo replied simply. "If I say its possible, then it is." Klein frowned. "Thats not an answer." Qin Mo grinned. "Its the only one youre getting." Before Klein could retort, Qin Mo activated a hololith, and a three-dimensional schematic of the shipyard flickered into view. Unlike Imperial dockyards massive, rigid superstructuresQin Mos design was modular, a living thing that could be assembled and reconfigured as needed. A colossal exoskeleton housing Matter Printing Forges. Instead of welding hull plating or riveting sections together, warships would be printed directly from raw materials, bypassing standard Imperial shipbuilding inefficiencies. Of course, ship blueprints still needed to be designed separatelybut for Qin Mo, this was not a problem. "Its simple," Qin Mo continued, his tone laced with a quiet confidence. "Once the primary framework is stabilized, we can generate warships on demand. No need for labor-intensive construction. No need for endless refits." Klein shook his head, the disbelief written across his face. "Ridiculous. Its like some kind of sorcery." Anruida chuckled from his seat across from them, crossing his arms in quiet amusement. "Youve seen him warp physics before. Why does this surprise you?" Klein exhaled sharply, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "It doesnt. Thats the problem." .... Qin Mo fell into a reflective silence, staring out into the endless ruins that stretched beneath the transport drone. He had long understood why his technological advancements outpaced anything in the Imperium. He wasnt just human anymore. His soul was bonded to something far older, far greater. The essence of a Ctan, he was a manifestation of the physical laws of the material universe. To him, understanding knowledge of technology came as naturally as breathing. The arcane principles of the universe, the ebb and flow of space and time, were his to command. The Adeptus Mechanicus might claim dominion over the secrets of machine and matter, but even they could not touch the breadth of his power. But even a Star God had limitations, especially a young one like him. His focus was finite. His knowledge was uneven. And while his mastery of Dimensional Manipulation far surpassed anything the Mechanicus had ever dreamed of, the intricacies of basic construction were still a foreign art to him. He was even leagues behind the architecture guilds of Tyrone Hive. Unless He dedicated time to studying it. Which was exactly what he planned to do. .... A mechanical chime echoed through the cockpit. "Ding!" ["Optimal construction site detected!"] The transport drone halted, descending onto the selected coordinates. Klein and Anruida disembarked first, their boots clanging against the hardened metal floor as they surveyed their surroundings. The terrain stretched endlessly before thema vast, unnaturally smooth basin. Not rough, not uneven. Not shaped by natural erosion. This was artificial. A forgotten assembly yard from a time when the Underhive had once been a colossal industrial complex, a testament to the once-great workings of Hive Tyrone. Klein crouched, running his fingers along the metallic surface. "What was this place originally meant to manufacture?" Anruidas voice was quiet, almost reverent. "Something important. Something... lost to time." Klein rose, glancing at Qin Mo. "This is idealbut terrain alone isnt enough. The gravitational conditions in orbit are different. If we build the shipyard here, we need to account for material stress." Qin Mo smirked, crouching down. Without hesitation, he plunged his hand into the ground And scooped up a chunk of solid metal as easily as grains of sand. Anruida and Klein stared in stunned silence. Even after everything they had witnessed, this still managed to shock them. "Youre rewriting gravity itself" Anruida muttered. Qin Mo simply shrugged, the chunk of metal floating in his hand. "The metal here is useful. I can refine it into something stronger." He clenched his fist And the chunk of metal compressed instantly, folding into a perfect ingot. .... Then, unexpectedly, Qin Mo turned to Klein, his tone casual but tinged with something darker. "I heard your familys crest was confiscated," he said, almost thoughtfully. "Want me to forge you a new one from this?" Klein fell silent. To Qin Mo and Anruida, it looked as if they had touched on a painful subject. But in reality Klein didnt really care about the crest at all. His mind was fixated on something else. A rumor. A cult had emerged in Tyrone Hive The Devotees. A faction that worshipped Qin Mo as a god. And now, seeing his powers firsthand, Klein realized something unsettling. Qin Mo snapped his fingers in front of Kleins face. "Are you having a stroke?" Klein blinked. "Huh? Oh, noI was just thinking about... my family." Qin Mo raised a brow, but didnt press further. Instead, he turned to business. .... Qin Mo turned to his two advisors, his gaze steady. "Youve seen real orbital shipyards before. So tell me Is this feasible?" Klein and Anruida exchanged glances. Then, both nodded. "If gravity and material durability arent issues," Klein said, "then yes, its absolutely possible." "I agree," Anruida added, his voice firm. "It can be done." Qin Mo grinned. "Now, we have two major projects ahead of us. Upgrading our current arsenal or constructing the shipyard first. Which should take priority?" "What do you think?" Anruida asked in return. "The shipyard." Qin Mo replied instantly. "Ive already made my decisionbut I value other perspectives. Different viewpoints bring clarity." Klein hesitated for a moment, then said: "I agreethe shipyard should come first. I dont have intelligence reports, but I can feel it. The situation is getting worse." Qin Mo respected Kleins intuition. As a noble, Klein had an uncanny ability to "sense" political shifts. He was not a general, but he would make a formidable strategist. Kleins voice hardened. "If war breaks out, we can handle the Hive''s forces. But if the Astra Militarum or Adeptus Astartes intervene Then well need a fleet." Anruida nodded firmly. He had followed Qin Mo from nothing And he would not let anyone take their future away. "Then its decided." The shipyard would be built. And soon They would have a fleet. Chapter 57: The Power of the Star Gods By the time midday rations were distributed in New Kato, the construction of the orbital shipyard had begun. Massive drone legions mobilized, their piston-limbs hauling tonnage beyond human limits. Colossal industrial lifters transported entire landmasses of alloyed metal toward the staging area. On the surface, the project seemed insanea shipyard, not just built in planetary orbit, but designed to move with the fleet. It would not be a static dock, but a war engine An orbital citadel that could fabricate and repair capital ships in the midst of battle. This was not Imperial doctrine. This was something else entirely. And if the Mechanicus ever learned of it, they would burn entire worlds to claim its secrets. .... The metal comprising Tyrone Hive could be alloyed with other planetary minerals, producing incredibly durable materials. Even the people of Tyrone Hive did not fully comprehend what they lived upon. The Hive was ancient beyond record, its metallic foundations older than the Imperium itself. Some whispered that Tyrone had once been a world-spanning city, long before the Imperiums rise. When the Emperor first set foot upon its soil, the Hives structure had already been nearly identical to its present form. It had endured. It had persisted. It had never fallen. Until now. .... Qin Mo stood atop a hovering transport drone, surveying the vast sea of alloyed metal that had been gathered. He closed his eyes, calculating. The shipyard hull would span over 100 kilometers.It needed to house Matter Printers capable of simultaneously producing capital ships.It required Dimensional Stabilizers, capable of sustaining a Dimensional Drivean FTL system far beyond Imperial technology.If Qin Mo could acquire Gloriana-class Battleship schematics, this shipyard could manufacture three 28-kilometer-long warships at once.The outer hull needed Void Shielding, capable of withstanding planetary-scale bombardments. This was not just a shipyard. It was a fortress. A monument to the impossible. .... Qin Mo activated his internal comm-link. "You''re going to shape the entire shipyard hull alone?" Grays voice crackled through the channel, laced with disbelief. ?"Didn''t you say my strength would only increase over time?"? Qin Mo ignored Gray and instead reached out to Shapeshifter, his enigmatic, semi-conscious ally. ?"When did I say that?"? A faint, distorted voice repliedglitching, fractured. ?"Apologies My consciousness is unstable"? ?"Doesnt matter."? Qin Mo dismissed the excuse. ?"I called to ask for advice."? ?"No advice."? Shapeshifter''s tone turned irritated. ?"Just build it. Im busy with something importantdont bother me unless necessary."? Qin Mo exhaled, then added: ?"Fine. But before you gonext time you give me a prophecy, be specific. Dont just say a Chaos worshipertell me which god they serve, what their capabilities are, and when theyll act. I want a structured report, like a data log. Understood?"? A brief pause. ?"...Understood"? The link cut out. Qin Mo smiled faintly. Then he raised his hand And began reshaping reality. .... He did not need to think. He did not need to hesitate. The knowledge of the universe was written into his very being. He extended his awareness across the entire construction zone. He felt everything. The metal beneath the earth, the hovering drones, the hauling transports, the piles of alloyed material stacked for assembly. All of it existed within his grasp. His power unfolded. Gravity warped.Solid metal liquefied into a flowing river of molten silver.Structures collapsednot from destruction, but from being deconstructed atom by atom.Raw elements purified themselves, fusing at a molecular level into something stronger than ceramite, denser than adamantium. No impurities. No weaknesses. This was not fire-forged alloy. This was cosmic metallurgy. The laws of physics themselves obeyed his will. .... The metallic tides surged, forming the shipyards skeletal frame. He manipulated heat and energy at willpockets of invisible fire flickered, altering the atomic bonds of the material. Light bent strangely around the colossal structure, as if unsure how to behave in the presence of such power. Some areas were pitch black, absorbing all illumination. Others glowed with eerie brilliance, as if radiating ghostly starlight. The drones'' sensors malfunctioned, their optics unable to process the shifting environmental anomalies. Gravity was nullified. The shipyards skeletal frame floated mid-aira colossus in the making. This gravitational distortion would remain permanent Until the shipyard was completed and transported to orbit, It would never touch the ground. And at the center of it all Qin Mo stood motionless, eyes glowing with crackling blue energy, molding reality itself. .... For a brief moment, he saw something else. A figure standing amidst the void of space. Planets floated around it, yet they did not orbit a sun. They simply existed, motionless, untouched by gravitational force. At first, Qin Mo thought it defied reason. But then He understood. The Star Gods were not beings bound by physics. They were physics. They did not observe reality. They defined it. .... The maelstrom of cosmic energy settled. The anomalies faded. Only then did Qin Mo see what he had created. And he realized He had made a mistake. The shipyard was not a traditional dockyard. It was a colossal, black sphere, spanning 100 kilometers in diameter. A perfectly symmetrical construct, so flawless it could serve as a scientific reference model for absolute geometric perfection. Qin Mo stared at it for a moment. Then He shrugged. S~ea??h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Itll do." He turned away, completely unbothered. If anything This might be even better. It was no longer just a shipyard. It was a fortress, a command center, a monolithic war platform. A Doomsday Moon. As he left, the drones marched inside, their directives clear. The internal construction would begin immediately. And soon Tyrone Hive would no longer just be a Hive city. It would be a capital. A rising power. And for the first time in a long history The Imperium would not be the only Human force in the void. Chapter 58: Commemoration of the Fallen Inside one of New Katos industrial facilities, Grot sat motionless on the factory floor, watching a logistics drones undergo repairs. The machine had been crushed during raw material collection, its plating bent, its internal servos damaged. Now, another dronesthis one in perfect conditionwas fixing it. Grot merely observed. He was a maintenance technician now, though in truth, this was not a real job. It was just something to do. A charity to keep people occupied, ensuring they had food, shelter, and something resembling purpose. Most of the workers stood around just as he did, watching the drones do the real labor. No one spoke. Eventually, the damaged drones was repaired. It hovered away, returning to its duties. And in that moment, Grot realized the truth This work did not matter. He did not matter. .... A black, spherical Drone floated toward a nearby worker. The units vox-emitter crackled to life, its voice was cold, emotionless: ["Personnel #488181. Occupation: Worker. You have worked for one consecutive month. You are now permitted to visit the chapel to alleviate mental stress."] The worker immediately stood and left, wordlessly obeying the directive. Then, the drone turned to Grot. ["Personnel #4. Designation: Former Thunderborn. You have not undergone any stress relief since the last conflict. Your psychological assessment indicates multiple instances of emotional distress. You are granted leave to visit the chapel for stress alleviation."] Grot smirked and gave the drones smooth plating a light slap. "I''m not a Thunderborn anymore. Your database needs an update." Then, he stood up and walked out of the factory. .... Although it was still work hours, stress relief leave was an exception Anyone granted permission could take it at any time. As Grot and others left their facilities, they merged with other groups, forming a silent procession toward the city-center chapel. The crowd was diverseengineers, technicians, logistics personnel, and laborers. Suddenly, a Sentinel drone hovered into their path. Its red and blue lights flashed, the safety locks on its heavy bolter disengaging with a distinct click. A bright scanning beam swept over them. Then, after several seconds ["Thank you for complying with the security scan."] With its monotone confirmation, the drones weapons rearmed, and it drifted away to patrol another sector. New Kato was orderly. It was safe. But only because watchful eyes were everywhere. The group continued onward, entering the massive chapel A colossal structure that extended over 100 floors underground. .... The above-ground structure of the chapel was a monument to faith, its grand halls dedicated to prayers to the Emperor. But its true purpose lay beneath. Grot stepped into an elevator and descended into the underground levels. When the doors opened, he entered a long metallic corridor, lined with countless doors on either side. Each led to a private chamber, where workers could "relieve stress" through simulated experiences. Grot chose an unoccupied room and entered. The moment the door sealed shut, the dark, sterile chamber shifted. The walls vanished. The air changed. And suddenly Grot stood on a serene beach, the ocean stretching far into the horizon beneath a vibrant blue sky. Two bottles of alcohol emerged from the floor. A holographic prompt appeared before him: ["Would you like to continue ''Loyalists vs. Traitor Xenos''?"] Grot nodded. "Continue." A lasrifle materialized in his hands. Once again, he relived the Great Counteroffensivefighting side by side with fallen brothers, experiencing war from the perspective of a common soldier. .... When the simulation ended, Grot exited the chamber and took the elevator back up. As the doors slid open He froze. Waiting outside was a man clad in gold-trimmed Thunderborn armor. Grey. New Katos Thunderborn Commander stood with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the wall. Passing workers stole quick glances at himsome in awe, others in fear. Grot grinned. "What, even Captain Grey comes here to play ''Loyalists vs. Traitor Xenos''?" He stepped forward, embracing his old friend. Grey chuckled, shaking his head. "I dont like that game. I prefer watching a movie called Super Grey Kills a Million Heretic Scumbags." Thenhis expression turned serious. "Maya has been found." .... For a moment, Grot stood still. Then His hands trembled. His eyes widened. His breath hitched. And then Tears and snot streamed down his face uncontrollably. Grey patted his shoulder. "Her new residence is right next to yours. Go home after workyou''ll see her then. Youll also need to teach her the rules of living in New Kato." Grot wiped his face. "Rules? Like what?" Grey smirked. "For starters No unauthorized entertainment without permission. No resisting Sentinel drone scans. And most importantly The Lord Commander himself designed a gene-tracing device just to find her. Thankfully, we got the real deal. Imagine if we found some musclebound freak and had to tell you, Heres your sister." Grot laughed through his tears. ThenGreys expression shifted. "Also your brother." Grots face darkened. Sear?h the N??elFir.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He took a deep breath. "He''s dead, isn''t he?" Grey nodded hesitantly. "Yes, but" "You dont have to explain." Grey fell silent. "My brother never yelled at me. He used violence, yesbut he never relied on it. He was a model of self-discipline. But back then, something was wrong It was like he wasnt in control. When I looked into his eyes, it was like staring at glass Like he was trapped inside, pounding on the walls, begging me to help him." Grey lowered his head. "Call me if you ever need anything." Grey clasped Grots shoulder. "Ive got recruitment duties to handle, but tomorrow night We drink." Grot smirked weakly. "Sounds good." .... "Hes got sharp instincts." Qin Mo remarked over the vox-link. "Yeah" "So, uh does this mean we can give him his armor back?" Grey asked cautiously. A sudden knock on the door interrupted their conversation. "Well talk about it later." "Enter." The door opened. Duncan, the 87th Regiment Commander, stepped inside and saluted. "You summoned me, my Lord?" Qin Mo nodded. "I heard you still keep a relica piece of your friends remains." Duncans hands clenched. Alberts ashes. His old friend had one final wish "To see the sky, even in death." "You know" Qin Mo mused. "Most fallen soldiers had only two dying wishes. One: Entrust their families to their comrades. Two: See the sky one last time." Duncan swallowed hard. "Now, they wont just see the sky. Theyll watch over us from orbit." Qin Mo smiled. Chapter 59: Warship Design Qin Mo put aside thoughts of commemorating the fallen and turned his attention to something far more critical Sarch* The N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Designing warships. .... Qin Mo had a clear vision for the fleet: At present, the Imperial Navys presence in the Talon System was weak. 1 Lunar-class Cruiser3 Sword-class Frigates And given how deep corruption ran within the Hives ruling class, it was highly likely these ships had already fallen to treachery. But Qin Mo had no doubtshis fleet would crush them. His initial warship blueprints focused on two primary classifications: Role: Rapid-response screening units, optimized for intercepting enemy strike craft, nullifying missile salvos, and providing covering fire in high-threat engagements. Armament: Fast-tracking light turrets for flexible arc coverage. Close-In Weapon Systems (CIWS) laser defense systems. Torpedo launchers for deep penetration strikes. Unique System: Teleport beacon launchersexperimental payloads that deploy markers directly into hostile vessels or breach points, enabling surgical teleportation assaults mid-battle. Role: Primary offensive vessels, equipped with forward-mounted particle lances for extreme-range engagements. Armament: Heavy energy-based weaponry for superlative engagement range. Saturation missile batteries capable of area denial and orbital bombardment. Rotational turret arrays engineered for optimal broadside efficiency. Unique System: Each cruiser would be armed with a teleportation grid, allowing for mid-battle deployment of entire strike teams onto enemy vessels. Above all else His ships would carry more firepower per tonnage than any other warship of the same class. .... Qin Mos fleet would reject two fundamental Imperial technologies. Unlike Imperial vessels, Qin Mos warships would not rely on Warp travel. Instead They would utilize Dimensional Engines, bypassing the need for a Gellar Field entirely. Unlike Warp Drives, these systems sliced through localized dimensional subspace, threading through micro-folds of reality without ever breaching into the Immaterium. During transit, a teleportation shield would form around the ship, ensuring it was not torn apart in the dimensional corridor. This would eliminate the risk of daemonic incursions, as Warp travel was no longer necessary. Qin Mo had no affinity for the Warp, and as such, had no need for Warp-based defenses. Instead He devised a one-way energy barrier: A constant-phase kinetic barrier that allowed outgoing projectiles to pass freely, while repelling all external fireregardless of velocity. Unlike Void Shields, this system had no vulnerability to slow-moving projectiles or boarding torpedoes. .... If close-range combat became inevitable, Qin Mos cruisers would unleash concentrated missile barrages and kinetic weaponry to devastate enemy formations. Unlike Imperial designs His ships would not waste space on shrines, chapels, or excessive crew quarters. All personnel would be stationed near the ships coreeliminating the need for long corridors. Instead of running between battle stations, crews would be linked via neural interfaces, controlling ship systems as if they were an extension of their own bodies. During non-combat periods, crew members would enter stasis pods, reducing long-term resource consumption. .... Even if a warship was critically damaged or destroyed, the stasis pods would activate emergency mass-teleportation protocols, instantly returning all personnel to safety. .... As Qin Mo finalized the schematics, a dangerous idea surfaced. A weapon unlike anything the Imperium had ever fielded before. A truly devious weapon. A supermassive explosive warheads would be housed in the ships hangar. In combat, the bomb would be teleported directly into the heart of an enemy shipbypassing all external armor, shields, and hull plating. Due to the unpredictable movement of ships, precise targeting would be impossiblebut even one successful deployment would result in instant destruction. Once the opposing crew realized a bomb had materialized inside their vessel, they would face an impossible choice Break formation and flee, sacrificing battlefield cohesion.Stay and die, allowing the detonation to consume their entire fleet. Either way The battle would already be won. Qin Mo smirked. "This is getting interesting" Designing the ships themselves was easy. The real challenge? Perfecting their weaponry and Dimensional Engines. But for him, this was an enjoyable process. .... While Qin Mo was forging the future of naval warfare, the Spire Lords convened for an emergency council. For the first time in years, nearly every noble house attended This was no ordinary meeting. It was held within the Grand Ecclesiarchy Chapel, beneath the watchful gaze of the Emperors golden effigy. The air hung thick with incense imported from Holy Terra, swirling around the skeletal servo-skulls that hovered like silent confessors. The Governor of Tyrone Hive, his augmetic eye glinting with cold luminescence, stood at the pulpit. His voice boomed through the vox-grille embedded in his throat "Gentlemen, Deacon-Primaris David is dead." The assembled nobles exchanged glances, their expressions flickering between skepticism, amusement, and concealed relief. Some even silently cursed the Governor The Governor continued, unbothered. "Autopsy results confirm David died of heart failure." A rare diagnosis in the Imperium, where most noblemen replaced failing organs with augmentics. The room snickered. "How touching David was such a ''pious man'' that he refused cybernetics." Then The Governor asked the real question. "Who, then, orchestrated this... demise?" Immediately, one noble scoffed. "The answer is obvious The First Legion." "Why?" The Governor pressed. The noble grinned, spreading his arms theatrically. "Because he was their enemy." Then, with a mocking smirk, he raised his voice: "If I were one of them, I''d have poisoned the old bastard myself!" The chapel erupted in laughter. The nobles doubled over, howling in amusement As if they hadnt just been mourning David a moment ago. .... Meanwhile, the Servants were Confused. The lowborn serfs standing in the hall looked at their masters, utterly bewildered. One moment, the nobles were grieving. The next, they were laughing like hyenas. Their emotional instability was unsettling. Though to be fair They had never been particularly stable to begin with. "Enough. Settle down." The Governor smiled, motioning for silence. Then, he made his declaration: "War with the rebels is now inevitable. We will order the forces within the Hive to attack. Meanwhile, we will escape to Talon III." One noble frowned. "What if the ''Cult of the Lord of Wisdom'' refuses to follow orders?" The Governors expression darkened. "Then we unite against them And purge every last one of their leaders." The room fell silent. Then The nobles grinned smugly. Plots and betrayal? That was their specialty. "But understand this The forces attacking the rebels will not be our Planetary Defense Forces. They will come from Talon II." Then, the Governors gaze landed on a single figure A man clad in a Marshals uniform, seated at the far end of the chamber. "Stinger." The Governors voice cut through the silence. "You will oversee this operation." The Marshal stood, his salute sharp and mechanical. "Understood." Then, he sat back down. The other nobles scowled. "A former slave commanding our forces?" "Outrageous!" They had never approved of Stinger. To them, he was nothing more than the Governors glorified lapdog. The Governor smirked. "Perhaps Stinger should remain a slave, then. After all, the position of Marshal should go to someone braver. Someone willing to stay behind and die while we escape." The nobles immediately changed their tune. "No, noStinger is the perfect choice!" "I fully support him!" "No one is better suited for this role!" The Governor chuckled. Then, he turned back to Stinger. "Make it look good. Don''t just throw troops at them." "Yes, my Lord." Stinger bowed deeply. Chapter 60: Sudden Assault As soon as the Spire Lords adjourned, the Governor and his inner circle wasted no timetheir evacuation preparations began immediately. While they boarded their shuttles, the frontline of the Hives stalemate shifted. On the battlefield, General Barrett received a transmission from the Lord Marshal of Tyrone Hive. A message that changed everything. .... The official command was worded carefully: "The 2nd Regiment is to immediately stand down from the front. The First Legion is not an enemy. As loyal servants of the God-Emperor, all sons of the Imperium must seek reconciliation. It sounded diplomaticperhaps even righteous. But Barrett saw right through it. This wasnt just a ceasefire. This was a surrender. For weeks, Barrett had watched the First Legion They werent heretics. They werent power-hungry warlords. They were survivors. Men who had clawed their way out of death and now sought justice for their fallen comrades. They had no desire to burn Tyrone Hive to the ground. This was their home too. .... With his orders clear, Barrett gathered his officers and headed to the First Legion lines. He found Captain Grey overseeing a new wave of recruits, freshly teleported into their forward base. Without hesitation, Barrett handed Grey the orders. "The Hive has surrendered." Grey read them silently, his visor scanning the document. He forwarded the data to Lord Commander, then looked up. A smirk played across Greys lips. "Congratulations. You and your men can finally stop fearing that well come over the trench line to gut you. Barrett sighed, running a hand over his unshaved stubble. "I''m still not at ease." he admitted. "Your Lord Commander is a strong-willed man. I doubt he''ll be so quick to forgive and forget." Greys smirk faded. His tone turned flat and serious. "He won''t compromise. He will find out who orchestrated this war and execute them. Only then will this matter be settled." A heavy silence hung between them. Barrett felt his stomach tighten. This war wasnt over. It was just changing shape. After a long pause, he muttered: "Pass a message to your Lord Commander for me This Hive is our home. We cannot let it be destroyed." Grey leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Pass a message to your Governor for me We have suffered too much. Paid too steep a price. This will not end so easily. He should prepare to atone for his sins." Barrett snorted, rolling his eyes. Youve got teeth, boy. Ill give you that. With that, he turned and headed back to his regiment. .... The entire 2nd Regiment assembled, ready to leave the trenches behind. For the first time in months, they could lower their weapons without fear. Jubilant soldiers laughed, clapping each other on the backeven in Barretts presence. He let them. "When I get home, I''m buying my wife and kids a gift. Then I''ll throw a feast to celebrate not dying in this mess!" The men cheered, clinking ration bottles together in celebration. For the first time in months, there was laughter on the Fields. Even Greys hardened veterans felt an odd sense of relief. Then Everything changed. .... [Incoming Hostile Projectiles Detected] Greys helmet HUD flashed red. [? WARNING: MULTIPLE HIGH-SPEED PROJECTILES INBOUND!] [? WARNING! WARNING!] His shoulder-mounted cannon activated instantly, aiming toward the sky. Other Thunderborns'' cannons did the same, firing intercepting laser blasts into the upper atmosphere. Barrett whipped around, his face twisting in confusion and fury. "Greydid you order an attack?!" Then He heard it. The horrific shriek of descending artillery. The unmistakable whistle of death falling from above. Barretts expression froze. Slowly, he turned back to Grey, his mouth opening But before he could speak "BOOOM" A blinding explosion consumed him. Barrett was vaporized instantly. Then Hell fell upon the battlefield. .... Grey and his soldiers immediately took cover. Their fortified defenses and advanced armor absorbed the brunt of the bombardment. The automated defense turrets continued firing, intercepting as many incoming shells as possible. But there were too many. Even as they gunned down some of the incoming warheads, dozens more slammed into the battlefield. The ground quaked as explosions ripped apart the trenches. The air became thick with blood and smoke. .... They had gathered too close together. A perfect kill zone. S~ea??h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Hundreds of soldiers vanished in an instant, vaporized by the first volley. The shockwave tore through flesh and bone, turning men into chunks of meat that rained down upon their comrades. Grey had seen carnage before. But never like this. His visor blurred with blood splatter. The ground became a slurry of pulverized corpses. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the devastation. Then "DEFEND THE LINE!" His voice snapped through the comms. Legion officers immediately rallied their troops. They reinforced the fortifications Ironically, trenches built by the 2nd Regiment were now protecting the very soldiers they once called rebels. .... The command center was a storm of activity. The emergency alert had triggered a full-scale military mobilization. Inside the war room, Qin Mo and Yoan strode through the steel corridors. Every passing soldier snapped to attentionthen immediately sprinted to carry out orders. Qin Mo entered the briefing chamber. Inside, Klein and the Legions top officers gathered around a holographic battlefield projection. As soon as Qin Mo stepped forward, the officers parted to make way. Qin Mos eyes scanned the projection. The First Legion was holding, using their superior firepower to withstand the onslaught.But the enemy wasnt just attacking the frontthey were establishing defensive positions across the lower districts. Klein sighed. "So war was inevitable after all" His voice carried wearinessas if he had always known this was coming. .... "Order a Full Retreat." Qin Mos tone was calm. Absolute. "Destroy all fixed emplacements on the frontlines. Leave them nothing. Then withdraw all forces back to the Underhive." Kleins eyes widened. "Were pulling back?!" Qin Mos gaze remained locked on the holographic map. "The tunnel was blocked during the battle in the Underhive. Now that war has begun, our forward base is useless. We will regroup rearm And then we will teleport Directly behind their forces." Klein understood Instantly. His shock turned into a grin. "A surprise counterattack from behind Brilliant." .... "Prepare the Teleport Assault." Qin Mo issued the final order. His officers quickly began calculating orbital triangulations and where each Legion regiment would materialize for maximal impact. The counteroffensive had begun. Chapter 61: The Prophecy of Certain Defeat "Disperse! By the Golden Throne, spread out!" "Prepare for teleportarium extraction! Destroy all fixed weapon emplacements and get ready to move!" Across the trenches and forward fortifications, First Legion officers barked orders through the vox-net, their voices sharp over the cacophony of battle. The air reeked of promethium and burning ceramite as disciplined squads fought tooth and nail, holding the line against the oncoming horde of heretics. .... The soldiers moved with precisionsystematically dismantling heavy weapons, planting melta-charges on autocannon turrets, missile silos, and macro-artillery platforms before pulling back. One after another, controlled detonations sent plumes of fire and debris skyward, turning the once-formidable defense lines into smoldering wreckage. Within moments, the entire defense line was rendered useless to the enemy. Once the sabotage was complete, the soldiers spread out, ensuring no one stood too close before the mass teleportation sequence. The last thing they needed was a miscalculation fusing two men into a single horrific mass. Meanwhile, senior officers and armored units boarded their Leman Russ tanks, awaiting extraction. The air crackled with unnatural energy as a cold, synthetic voice echoed through their helmet comms: ["Teleportation sequence initiated."] FLASH. In the blink of an eye, the entire First Legion Men, tanks, artillery, even reconnaissance drones vanished in a brilliant burst of energy, leaving behind only the acrid tang of ozone and scorched earth. .... The enemy forces, still pressing forward, continued blindly firing into the now-empty battlefield, their guns chattering for nearly two minutes before the truth settled upon them The entire First Legion had disappeared. Bewildered, the assaulting forces advanced cautiously, their rifles trained on the empty trenches. They had won without resistance. An easy, bloodless victory. Yet a deep, gnawing unease crept through their ranks. Because they all knew The First Legion was still out there. Somewhere. Waiting. .... Atop the Spire, in the Governors inner sanctumnow a profane shrine to ChaosMarshal Stinger, known in hushed tones as Cultist Venomfang. The corrupted warlord overseeing the attack sat deep in meditation, surrounded by heretical tomes and twisted artifacts, their surfaces crawling with glyphs that shimmered with malign intelligence. He exhaled slowly, his warpfire-blue eyes, pupils slit like a serpents, closed as he plunged into the Great Oceans depths And the vision came. He saw it. A massive counterattack from out of nowhere. Legions of soldiers, Leman Russ tanks, and war machines emerging from shimmering rifts Not from the trenches. But behind his own defensive lines. He saw the slaughter His own forces routed, torn apart in minutes. Thousands dying before they could even react. The battle was lost before it even began. Venomfangs eyes snapped open. Sweat poured down his face. He gritted his sharpened teeth in frustration. "Accursed technology" he muttered, shaking his head. Even the warp-spawned horrors he once commanded feared this kind of precise, instantaneous teleportation warfare. .... Venomfang reached out with his mind, sending a psychic command to his field commanders: ?"Withdraw. Cover each others retreat."? His frontline armies were already dead men walking. There was no saving them. He would not waste forces on a doomed battle. Then, he turned to a robed sycophant, trembling before him. "Prepare the ritual. Gather the necessary offerings." The servant hesitated, his voice shaking: "My lord but what if their teleportation is not warp-based? What if" Venomfang sneered. "I have disrupted the Imperiums finest Astartes teleporters before. No matter what technology they use, I will see it undone." He pointed at the door, his eyes glowing with malice. "Get. To. Work. NOW." The servant scrambled away. The ritual would soon begin. .... Back at New Kato Stronghold, the teleported forces quickly reorganized. Weapons were checked. Armor systems recalibrated. Meanwhile, the Thunderborns of the First Legion received new orders. Through a secured vox-channel, Lord Commander Qin Mo addressed his most trusted warriors: "You will be teleported to different zones, behind enemy lines. Your priority is establishing teleportation beacons for the main force. If you encounter a psyker, do not engage. Report their position immediately. Yoan will deal with them." His orders were precise, absolute, unyielding. The Thunderborns acknowledged the command and braced for deployment. One by one, their teleportation barriers activated And they vanished. .... Captain Grey materialized in an abandoned zone outside the Lower Hive District One. Through his helmets HUD, he spotted an entire enemy regiment in the distance Moving to consolidate their hold on the District. Unaware. Vulnerable. Without hesitation, Grey deployed his teleportation beacon Then, without hesitation, he ignited his jump pack. He shot forward like a comet of destruction. His heavy bolter roared, tearing through unprepared enemy lines. Explosive rounds detonated within flesh and armor alike, sending bodies sprawling. Panic. Disarray. S~ea??h the novlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The enemy scrambled for cover, desperate to mount a defense. But they made a fatal mistake. They didnt check behind them. Behind enemy lines, the 87th Regiment materialized. Led by Duncan, armored shock troops and Leman Russ tanks emerged from the teleportation field. Duncan rose from the hatch, his chainblade raised high. "FORWARD! IN THE EMPERORS NAME, CLEANSE THIS FILTH!" His war cry thundered across the battlefield. The enemy turned in horror Only to see rows of gun barrels aimed directly at them. The 87th Regiment opened fire. Bolter rounds ripped through flesh, plasma blasts turned men into ash, and artillery shells detonated within enemy ranks Reducing entire squads to nothing but burning wreckage. Within two minutes, over half the enemy regiment was annihilated. The survivors tried to fleeor play dead. It didnt matter. They were hunted down and executed. Grey, seeing the battle was under control, disengaged Deploying more beacons as he moved to his next target. ..... Across the battlefield, similar ambushes unfolded. Entire squads materialized behind enemy lines.Artillery positions were wiped out before they could even turn their guns.Retreat routes were cut offthousands were trapped in a kill-zone. The First Legions teleportation warfare was utterly unstoppable. Even unmanned artillery platforms joined the attack Teleporting from one position to another, raining death upon the enemy. Faced with an enemy that struck from nowhere and vanished just as fast, The enemy forces fell into complete chaos. Command structure collapsed. Soldiers began breaking ranks. This wasnt a battle anymore. It was a slaughter. The First Legion had achieved total battlefield dominance. .... Back in New Kato, Qin Mo took a deep breath, stepping away from the command console. The battle was already won. All that remained was ensuring the teleportariums had the power to sustain their relentless offensive. Victory was inevitable. Chapter 62: Battlefield in Chaos After half a Terran day of relentless combat, Venomfangs forces were in complete disarray. The psykers coordinating battlefield communications relayed frantic reports from the front lines, while Venomfang himself processed the flood of information in his mind, attempting to piece together an accurate picture of the warzone. Yet, one truth became painfully clear Chaos. Utter chaos. The retreating forces attempt at mutual support was a catastrophic failure. The enemythe First Legionwas everywhere and nowhere at once. Entire regiments fell into disarray, unable to organize even the simplest counterattacks. Some units fled in the wrong direction, running straight into blocked Hive gates, trapping themselves like cornered vermin. Venomfang tried to form defensive lines, desperate to carve out an escape route for his most valuable officers But that was impossible. The enemy materialized unpredictably Striking from ahead, behind, and within their ranks. Firing one devastating volleythen vanishing before retaliation was possible. Some enemy squads even teleported directly into the center of multiple regiments Sowing mass confusion before vanishing once more. There was no way to establish a stable defensive perimeter. And now, an even greater crisis emerged. .... "My lord!" A psyker reeled, his gaunt features contorted with panic, blood trickling from his nose. "We must silence the enemy artillery immediately! Thousands have already been annihilated!" Venomfang gritted his teeth, fingers pressing against his temples as if he could physically suppress his own mounting frustration. The First Legions artillery was tearing his forces apart Their positions obliterated one after another, relentless and unceasing. He had to act. Now. Snatching the vox-comms, he issued a direct command: "Eirin! Take your mechanized detachment and immediately neutralize the enemy artillery! Their position is exactly 1,000 meters north of your current location!" Eirin, commander of the Talon II Planetary Defense Forces elite mobile corps, responded swiftly. Unlike standard infantry regiments, his unit utilized Centaur APCs for rapid deploymenta rare luxury in Hive warfare. In truth, the Planetary Defense Force never had a formal "mobile corps". But Venomfang and the Governor preferred unconventional tactics. Thus, they heavily invested in a fast-response force to execute their more devious strategies. Now, that force would be put to the test. .... Eirins APCs roared forward, their treads grinding over broken ferrocrete, kicking up clouds of dust and debris as they weaved through the corpse-littered ruins of the Hive. Through his augmented optics, he spotted the enemy artillery positions And what he saw made his blood run cold. No crew. No operators. Yet they fired without pause. Automated artillery. Eirin clenched his jaw. "My lord, there''s something wrong. The enemy artillery is automated. No crew, yet it fires nonstop." Venomfangs voice crackled through the vox, cold and impatient. "I dont care what it is. Just destroy them. Im watching you." And it wasnt a mere threat. With the blessing of the Architect of Fate, Venomfang could observe Eirins every move in real-time. Eirin had no intention of disobeying. S~ea??h the ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Pushing his forces forward at full speed, he closed the 1,000-meter gap in under a minute. His troopers, however, couldnt help but glance toward the distant explosions. Blinding flashes and thick plumes of smoke filled the battlefield. Even from this distance, the devastation was unmistakable. Venomfang, calculating the artillerys kill count, made a grim estimation Each salvo was erasing at least half a regiment. And in this chaotic warzone, where proper cover was nonexistent The kill rate was even higher. .... As Eirins APCs reached optimal attack range, he muttered under his breath "Don''t teleport dont teleport away" Clearly, he had dealt with teleporting enemies before And knew the frustration of attacking, only for the target to vanish before impact. Luck was on his side. The artillery did not move. Eirin took a deep breath. "OPEN FIRE!" "BOOOOM!" His Centaur APC exploded. A direct hit. His troopers spun around And froze in horror. An entire enemy regiment had materialized right behind them. Not marching. Not deploying from transports. But APPEARING in full battle formation. Weapons already raised. At the forefront A regal officer, standing atop a Leman Russ, bolt pistol in hand, barking commands. Above them, a mysterious drone hovered, its sensors scanning the battlefield. Eirins forces, caught mid-charge, were forced to abandon their artillery target Turning their guns on this new threat instead. But it was too late. The slaughter began. .... Leman Russ tanks unleashed a relentless fusillade, reducing APCs to smoldering wrecks. Troopers scrambled out of burning vehicles Only to be cut down by precise volleys of lasgun fire. Some desperate drivers swerved their APCs, trying to angle their mounted weapons toward the enemy But it was futile. The mysterious drone hovering above emitted an invisible field Shredding physical projectiles before they could even reach their targets. Eirin knew. It was over. And Venomfang saw it all. .... Through the telepathic link, Venomfang witnessed the massacre firsthand. And yet His face remained eerily blank. Another unit, gone. Just like that. A psyker aide hesitantly spoke up: "My lord, the mobile corps has been eradicated." Venomfang did not react. Instead, he muttered to himself. "I was wrong from the start I should never have ordered the retreat No No, that wouldnt have worked either. Even if we had stayed, they could have simply flanked us from both sides. This was a doomed battle from the beginning This entire war is a mistake. I never should have listened to the Governors orders to attack. No maybe this was necessary. Now, at least, we understand how they fight. Without these sacrifices, we wouldnt even have a chance to counter them" The psyker entourage around him burst into laughter, reveling in his frustration. They did not respect his command To them, he was just another pawn of the Great Game. .... Just as despair threatened to consume him A messenger rushed in, bowing deeply. "My lord The ritual is prepared." Venomfangs eyes lit up. Finally A chance to turn the tide. Wordlessly, he rose from his seat and strode toward the altar. It was time. For the final gamble. And the true battle was about to begin. Chapter 63: Material Technology A vast crowd had gathered in the plaza, nearly four thousand strong. These were not common laborers or factory dregs but the privileged merchants and nobles of the upper hivefigures of wealth and influence, now stripped of both. Fear gripped them. Their whispered conversationspleas for guidance, desperate reassurancesfaded into hushed murmurs as they clung to family and friends. Then, Venomfang appeared. The moment his figure emerged, clad in battle-worn carapace armor, the crowd fell silent. Thousands of eyes locked onto him as if he alone could guide them from the abyss. He let the silence linger, let the weight of expectation settle upon them before speaking. "As you all know," Venomfang began, his voice measured but laced with grim acceptance, "the First Legion has turned traitor." Gasps rippled through the gathering. Some had already heard rumors, but hearing it confirmed from his lips made it real. "These heretics are formidable," Venomfang continued, "and in open battle, we stand little chance. However" his voice sharpened, carrying across the square like the bark of a commissar"I swear to you that my forces will stop at nothing to ensure your safe evacuation to Talon II." He turned slightly, glancing at his attendant. The attendant, a thin man with hawkish eyes, narrowed his gaze and nodded. His lips curled in a thin, reassuring smile. "The transports are ready." Venomfang exhaled through his nose and turned back to the crowd. "You heard him! MOVE! Get to the transports now!" He clapped his hands sharply. "Do not waste time! You are the first wave of evacueesthere are many more who must follow! The faster you move, the more lives we can save!" His attendant pivoted, gesturing toward the far end of the plaza. "This way!" No one hesitated. Families clung together, rushing forward. Some even knelt as they passed Venomfang, whispering hurried prayers of gratitude, as if he were the Emperors chosen agent in their darkest hour. To them, he was a savior. He and his soldiers from Talon II were doing everything they could to evacuate civiliansfar more than theGovernor, who had vanished without a trace. They did not know the truth. They did not realize their salvation was a lie. .... The evacuees were led down a wide avenue, past the towering hab-blocks of the upper hive, emerging into a massive open-air landing zone. Rows of heavy transportsblocky, utilitarian ships with scorched hulls and open boarding rampsstood waiting. A flotilla meant to carry them to salvation. No one questioned why the ships remained powered down. No one asked why their engines remained cold. The situation was too dire for such concerns. One after another, the civilians flooded into the transports. When each vessel reached capacity, its ramp groaned shut, sealing them inside. .... Inside the first transport, an elderly noble found himself shoved toward the cockpit area. Wrinkling his nose at the stench of sweat and fear, he muttered under his breath: "That Emperor-damned bastard Klein wasted his trip back here. The least he couldve done was warn us about the First Legions betrayal!" Someone else grumbled. "Bloody hell, why havent these transports taken off yet?" No answer came. Instead, outside, Venomfang strode to the center of the landing zone, now clad in different attirerobes embroidered with glyphs that twisted the air around them, their sigils pulsing with an unnatural glow. In his grasp, he held a staff of darkened adamantine, its head adorned with a shimmering Tzeentchian eye, watching, unblinking. His lips moved. A whispered incantation, spoken in a language not meant for mortal tongues. A blue mistthick, unnatural, tinged with the scent of ozone and warp-firebegan to spread. Venomfang raised his staff And slammed it against the ground. A sharp clang rang out And the ships changed. The cold steel of their hulls twisted, shifting from plasteel and adamantium to something else. Something alien. Something eternal. The transports, once their promised salvation, became cages of unyielding ceramite. The first screams erupted from inside. Flameswarp-born and unnaturalignited beneath the landing zone, bathing the ground in eerie blue fire. Venomfang turned away, his attendant falling into step beside him. The mans voice was hushed, almost wary. "Is this truly necessary for the vanguard?" Venomfang smiled faintly. "Our enemy is not ordinary," he murmured. "I intend to leave behind cattle." He gestured toward the trapped civilians. "They will still have a purpose. They will be thrown into the next war." The attendant hesitated. "This ritualwhat exactly does it do?" Venomfangs eyes gleamed. "It will disrupt their teleportation technology." "But, my lord" Venomfang raised a hand, silencing him with a look of indulgent patience. "Knowledge and wisdom," he said softly, "are our greatest weapons." The attendant inclined his head. "...As you say, my lord." Venomfang chuckled. "Of course Im right. You still have much to learn, old man." .... Qin Mo sat motionless within the depths of the hive-fortress, his hands pressed firmly against the teleportation matrix. Energy surged through him, drawn from the very matter of the hive, converted into raw dimensional force. This was mass teleportation. Every cycle displaced hundreds of thousands of First Legion warriorsa process that drained the system entirely, only to have it replenished in the next instant. The strain was immense. Teleportation coordinates shifted constantly, each jump demanding meticulous recalibration. The enemys movements were erratic, their resistance greater than anticipated But Qin Mo endured. He had to. .... Thenwithout warning The energy flow halted. The teleportation device, instead of depleting, began to overload A deep, ominous hum filled the chamber. Blue-white lightnings snaked across its surface, erratic, volatile. If even one discharge struck the chambers wallsthe entire fortress would be vaporized. Qin Mo swiftly redirected the excess energy, stabilizing the system before disaster struck. he muttered, reaching for his vox unit. Before he could activate it The door burst open. Klein strode in, his expression urgent, his movements tense. "The army has temporarily halted its assault," he reported. "Something strange is happening in the Lower Hive." Klein relayed everything he had gathered. As Qin Mo listened, he finally understood the cause of the disturbance. The interference was warp-baseda crude but effective anti-teleportation field. Its presence was saturating the Lower Hive akin to a warp-based EMP, completely crippling any technology reliant on the Immaterium, creating an Immaterium-dampening effect. The enemys weaker psykers had been forced to abandon their abilities entirely, taking up lasguns instead. Meanwhile, on the front lines, Gray had discovered that his power armors psy-resistance systems were overloaded. His helmets HUD was flooded with warning markers, all detecting anomalous warp activity. And it wasnt just Grayother troops were reporting the same. To avoid walking into a potential trap, the army had chosen to halt its advance until further analysis could be conducted. The exact mechanism behind this disruption was unclearperhaps it was caused by a powerful psyker. But one thing was certain: the enemy had deliberately targeted their teleportation tech. Sar?h the N??eFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His lips curled into a smirk. They misunderstood. They assumed that First Legions teleportation system was standard Imperial Warp-based teleportation, which involved brief exposure to the Immaterium. Under normal conditions, this method was relatively safethe transit was too brief for warp entities to take notice. But since it still relied on the warp, disrupting it could cause catastrophic consequences. If the enemys interference had worked as they expected, Qin Mos soldiers wouldnt have merely been stranded mid-teleport. Nothey would have been completely obliterated, lost to the madness of the warp forever. For a brief moment, Qin Mo felt genuine admiration for the enemy psyker who devised this strategy. "What''s our move?" Klein asked. "None of this has anything to do with us," Qin Mo said, placing his hands back onto the teleportation array. "Continue the attack." Klein, reassured, saluted and left to relay the orders. The energy reservoir emptied almost instantly. Then, in the next moment It refilled. The army was once again deploying via dimensional teleportation. A slow grin spread across Qin Mos face. A chuckle rumbled in his throat. he muttered. And with that, another wave of teleporting soldiers descended upon the enemy. Announcement I hope you''re enjoying the novel so far! The current arc to conquer the Tyrone Hive is going to span a few more chapters. I want to keep the momentum going for you, so heres a deal: for every review I get before the end of April 2025, Ill release an extra chapter. Your feedback means the world to me, and this is a great way to keep the story moving faster for you. Let''s make it happen! (10 max.) If youd like to support me and read a bit ahead, feel free to check out my Patreon. /TLHemont. Do you like this Novel? Then pls consider supporting me by Commenting or Rating it. Chapter 64: Desperate Survivors Over thirty thousand soldiersthe last remnants of Venomfangs forces, had gathered in District 12. These were not elite warriors or chosen champions; they were the lucky ones, those who had miraculously survived the dimensional teleportation assault. Venomfangs warp disruption ritual had severed all communications. No vox transmissions, no psychic relays. The eerie silence was suffocating. No orders. No leadership. No hope. Yet, despite the uncertainty, relief flickered through the survivors. For the first time in hours, no more Imperial forces were materializing from thin air. No more squads of Thunderborns appearing in the heart of their formations, carving through ranks of screaming men like a butcher at his work. The slaughter hadat least for nowstopped. "Move now! Retreat!" "Kill the wounded! We leave no one behind for interrogation!" The remaining officers scrambled to impose orders to reorganize their troops. Some units were directed to withdraw, while others were given dirtier workensuring that no dying comrade was left for the enemy to capture. Loyalty had no place here. The wounded, too slow or too broken to move, begged for mercy. Their pleas were answered with the bark of lasguns or the deep, guttural roar of bolt pistols. Some officers ordered their men to speed up the process. Incendiary grenades. Flames roared to life, consuming the fallen in a hellish inferno. Charred flesh. Melting armor. The stench of burning bodies. Only once the dead were silenced did those left behind break ranks and flee. .... The retreat was anything but orderly. Some squads were deliberately misled, sent marching in the wrong directionstraight into abandoned hab-zones, where they would die lost and alone. Others betrayed their commanding officers, abandoning them to the rearguard while they pushed ahead. Cowards lived longer. Despite the chaos, every survivor clung to a single desperate hope Escape to the Upper Hive. And as the distance between them and the war zone of the Lower Hive widened, some dared to believe they might make it. Some even began to smile. Then A recon drone appeared overhead. "Aircraft! Aircraft!" "Were fucked!" Panic erupted through the ranks. Men stumbled, some dropping their weapons as if discarding them would make them less of a target. Some began wailing in despair, certain that their fate was sealed. But before full-blown hysteria could take hold A booming voice echoed from a loudspeaker. "Their teleportation has been disrupted! They cant get here immediately!" The words hit like a drug, dulling the sharp edge of fear, calming the terrified mob. Hope surged again. The soldiers pressed on, clinging to their last chance at survival. Until They stepped into a clearing. At first, only the front ranks hesitated, coming to an abrupt stop. Then, the flanks slowed as well. Those further back, still unaware, grew impatient. Thensomeone in the rear turned around. And saw the truth. ... A Fissures tore open behind them. Soldiers. Tanks. War machines. Appearing from nowhere. The First Legion was here. They had never stopped hunting them. sea??h th N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The teleportation wasnt disabled. It was delayed. They had let the heretics run, panic, hope And now, they were surrounded. .... Eikens regiment completed their teleportation drop, their formation perfect, their ranks unshaken. He surveyed the battlefield with clinical detachment. The thirty thousand survivorsdisorganized, leaderless, little more than a panicked mobstood paralyzed in sheer terror. "They look like a herd of refugees, not soldiers," Duncan murmured over the vox. Eiken didnt disagree. "Everything weve fought so far has been their vanguard. If their main force shows up next, were in for a real fight." Duncan scoffed. "Thats a problem for later. For now, lets deal with the vermin in front of us." Inside his Leman Russ, Duncan tapped his gunners shoulder. The signal was given. The gunner nodded, adjusted the cannon And fired. A massive shell hurtled through the air, straight for the grav-shielded drones hovering above the enemy ranks. The moment the shell neared its target, the grav-shield flickered off And the shell passed through. Right into the middle of the terrified horde. Detonation. The chain reaction began. The other tanks fired. Then, the infantry regiments opened up. Lasgun beams lanced through the air, ripping through flesh. Explosions gutted entire squads. Eiken observed the battlefield with detached indifference. This wasnt a battle. This was a purge. The heretics had no cover. No coherent formation. No chance to resist. They were slaughtered. .... With the teleportation cycles complete, Qin Mo took a moment to rest, before sitting down with Klein to discuss their next steps. Before they could formulate a plan The door swung open. Gray entered, dragging a prisoner behind him. The man collapsed onto his knees, his breath ragged. "Got myself a deserter," Gray grunted. "Might be useful." Qin Mo stood, observing the man with cold disinterest. The prisoner wore a tattered Talon II Planetary Defense Force uniformhis identification tags confirmed it. His face was a roadmap of old scars, but his eyes held nothing but fear. "P-please d-dont kill me" the man whimpered, cowering at Qin Mos feet. "IIll tell you anything you want!" Qin Mo exhaled. "Youre willing to talk," he murmured. "But I have no reason to believe you." He had no intention of listening to anything a Tzeentch-worshipping heretic had to say. Even if the prisoner spoke the truth, Qin Mo wouldnt trust it. Gray smirked. "So? What do we do with him?" Qin Mo didnt hesitate. "I just need him alive." .... Qin Mo retrieved a modified teleportation stabilizer from a nearby storage crate, fastening it around the prisoners neck. Then, he activated the dimensional transporter. The prisoner vanished into a dimensional tunnel Only to reappear moments later on the other side of the room. His body remained intact. His mind did not. The stabilizer had only protected his fleshnot his soul. He was now a breathing corpse. Exactly what Qin Mo wanted. Without hesitation, Qin Mo connected a device to the prisoners brain. Gray frowned. "Can we extract his memories?" Qin Mo smirked. "Smart man." He donned his helmet, issuing a command to the fortresss AI. "Read his mind." The AI responded instantly. ["Analysis complete."] ["What information are you seeking?"] Qin Mo chuckled. "What do you think?" ["Talon II is an industrial world. One hundred and twenty years ago, a cult began spreadingThe Order of the Omniscient Mind. The prisoner lacks classified military dataas he was only a low-ranking soldier. However, his knowledge is almost entirely related to the cults operations."] Qin Mo processed the report. Then, another thought struck him. "What about Talon III? Any signs of heresy there?" ["The prisoner possesses no information on Talon III."] "Give me military intelligence." ["Affirmative. Based on his memories, their forces acted as a vanguardtheir objective was to eliminate both our army and Tyrone Hives Planetary Defense Force. However, this objective was only inferred by the prisoner himself, and not explicitly stated in his orders."] Qin Mo removed his helmet, leaning back in his chair. "Talon II is already infested with heresy," he muttered. "This entire system is cursed. One rebellion after another." "Emperor preserve us," Klein sighed. "How long is this war going to drag on?" Qin Mo said nothing. He just hoped that Talon III wouldnt turn out to be another heretical nest. Because if it was A sector-wide extermination campaign would be inevitable. And Qin Mo wasnt interested in prayers or luck. If necessary, he would develop a weapon capable of issuing an Exterminatus-level purgeone that would end this war permanently. Chapter 65: Failure of Insight Well deal with the future when it comes," Qin Mo said, his voice measured. "Right now, we need to deploy forces and secure the Lower Hive." Gray gave a curt nod before turning on his heel, already moving to relay the orders. Klein remained behind, his role as a strategic advisor keeping him at Qin Mos side. The hololithic map before them flickered with tactical overlays, projecting the shifting tides of conflict across Tyrones war-torn districts. The lower hive was a wretched labyrinth of rusted manufactorums and crumbling hab-blocksnow a battlefield in the making. After a moment of contemplative silence, Qin Mo asked, "Given your understanding of the nobility, do you think all of them have embraced this so-called Order of the Omniscient Mind?" Klein furrowed his brow, rifling through years of experience with the Imperiums so-called upper class. "Hard to say," he admitted at last. "Nobles believe in all sorts of groxshit. I once heard about a group convinced that drowning themselves in excess could reverse aging. And the worst part?" He exhaled sharply. "I later found out it actually worked." Qin Mos expression remained unreadable as Klein continued, his tone darkening. "Heretics come in every flavor imaginable. If there were more than three habitable planets in the Talon system, I guarantee wed be drowning in them." The words carried a bitterness that ran deeper than mere frustration. Once, Klein had dreamed of peace. Of leaving behind the endless, grinding cycle of war. He had harbored fantasies of trade, of travelof seeing the galaxy beyond the ruins of warzones and hive gutters. He had simply wanted to travel, to see the galaxy. But such dreams had long since withered. Even if Qin Mo led them to victory once more, Talons worlds would remain scarred, its Hive cities reduced to little more than irradiated husks and crumbling slums. "This system is a wretched cesspit," Qin Mo muttered. "Like most of the Imperium." Klein didnt reply. He didnt have to. "But we keep struggling forward." Qin Mo stood, placing a hand on Kleins shoulder. "Do what you must. I have work to do." "Understood." Klein saluted, then turned and strode out of the command chamber, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridors beyond. Qin Mo exhaled slowly before returning to his research station. A dozen screens flickered to life as he resumed his workeach one dedicated to a different project, each demanding his attention. Shipboard weaponry. Structural alloys. For a Star God, none of this was difficult. He did not require endless shipments of different mined ores; he would forge an adaptive alloy from the elements directly, combining the strengths of multiple elements into a single alloyan ultimate fusion of resilience and versatility. The idea had taken root while constructing the shipyard hull. His understanding of metallurgy had evolved beyond mortal limitationshe could now restructure metals at the atomic levela form of absolute alchemy. Not true creation, of course. Even he required raw materials. But once perfected, this alloy would require fabrication devices to properly mass-producemachines capable of churning out war materiel for both automated forges and manual workshops. Although machines were infinitely superior to humans, the hive population was vast. The unaugmented masses needed something to doif only to justify their continued existence. His research extended beyond mere alloys and ships. Gray and his elite troops required enhancements. Thunderborn-pattern power armor needed further refinement. And then, there was the matter of Exterminatus-class weaponry. The Heretics would unleash something catastrophic before this war ended. Qin Mo knew it. And when they did, he needed countermeasures readyjust as he had devised the "pesticide" bioweapon to eradicate Tyrones Genestealer infestation. Though Qin Mo loved research, he often felt spread too thin. There was too much to do. Too many fronts. Yet, he had no intention of establishing a research division. Innovation was a weapon. One that he alone would wield. Aside from himself and a select few Blanks, no one in the Talon system would be permitted to innovate. .... The Governors throne was a grandiose relic of polished adamantium, inlaid with gold filigree and draped in rich crimson cloth. Venomfang lounged atop it, one leg lazily thrown over the armrest. His feet rested upon the bare back of a kneeling slave girl, her form trembling under his weight. In one hand, he swirled a golden goblet of aged amasec. In the other, a bottle of the same vintage. The former Governor had possessed a truly exquisite wine cellar. Even as he received ill tidings, Venomfang remained at ease. "The ritual failed," his attendant reported, kneeling. His voice was steady, though a tremor lurked beneath the surface. "Not one survivor returned from the Lower Hive. Forgive me, my lord. This must be my failure. I must have displeased the Omniscient One." Venomfang took a slow sip of his wine before responding. "No," he said, voice soft. "The failure is mine." His attendant froze. This was unexpected. Venomfang never accepted blame. Ever. And yet, today, he did so without hesitation. There was no further explanation. Instead, Venomfang upturned his goblet, allowing the dark liquid to spill onto the polished marble floor. Then, without warning, he kicked the slave girl, sending her sprawling into the mess of spilled amasec. She gasped, scrambling back to her knees, eyes wide with fear and confusion. She did not know why he had struck her. Neither did Venomfang. He simply felt like it. A slow smile curled across his lips. "No one speaks. Or I rip out your throats." Venomfang adjusted his posture, folding his legs beneath him. Then, he closed his eyes, beginning his insight ritual. This was not a gift from the Omniscient One. This was his power. It was a power he was born withone that had grown stronger after his conversion to the Omniscient One. His attendant hesitated before whispering, "What do you seek, my lord?" Venomfangs eyes snapped open. His hand shot forwardstopping just shy of his attendant. He had forgotten. The mans throat had long since been removed. For a moment, he considered killing him outright for the audacity of interruption him. But he relented. Instead, he closed his eyes once more, diving deeper into his vision. "I am searching," he murmured. "For the origin of their teleportation technology. For the principles behind it. And why our ritual had no effect." His attendant nodded and waited in silence. Venomfangs vision shifted. The Governors manor faded. A new sight emergedthe fortress deep within the Underhive. He waited. By past experience, his vision would soon penetrate its walls, revealing its secrets. One minute. Two minutes. Half an hour. And nothing. Instead The fortress was fading, growing darker and more indistinct. Then, something stepped forward. A mass of nothingness. Not transparent. Not shadowed. Not anything. It had no color. It defied form, logic, reality itself. Venomfang could not describe itonly that it was utterly blank. Then, the void expanded, devouring his vision. His mind screamed. Blood filled his nose and throat, his body convulsing violently. He had reached his limit. And yethe saw nothing. A moment later, his panicked attendant was upon him, slamming him onto the floor, slapping his face until the unnatural glow in his eyes receded. When he finally stilled, the attendant whispered, "Your insight did it fail?" Venomfang gasped for air. "No. This was not failure. Sar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I simply could not see." A heavy silence hung between them. Then, at last, Venomfangs lips curled into a vicious grin. "It doesnt matter, I will make them pay. I will burn the one who created this technology. And I will offer him to the Omniscient One." Chapter 66: Creed Both sides in the Tyrone Hive War maneuvered for victory, marshalling their forces for the next brutal engagement. The Governors fleet, still beyond the systems reach, had yet to return. The orbital shipyard, a prize that could tip the balance, remained undeployed. No one noticed the subtle shift in realitya wound carved into the fabric of existence. A warp rift, edged in violet flame, sundered the void at the Talon-Systems Mandeville Point. A jagged tear, raw with the howling madness of the Immaterium, bled into realspace. From its swirling depths, a battered Sword-class Frigate erupted, its hull scarred and blackened from the hellish journey through the Sea of Souls. The ship trembled as if exhaling in relief, its Gellar field flickering weakly before stabilizing. For a long, breathless moment, the only sound aboard the frigate was the rasping breath of its crew Survivors of a voyage that should have ended in madness or damnation. With a groan of grinding servos, the metal shutters covering the bridges observation windows slowly withdrew, revealing the endless, uncaring void of realspace. A moment of stunned silence. Thena single, ragged cry, raw with relief. "Ah Praise the Emperor!" The ships captain dropped to his knees, his voice trembling with fervor. "By the God-Emperors divine will, we have survived! We passed through a warp stormthis must be His hand guiding us! A miracle! Praise Him! Praise the Emperor!" "Praise the Emperor! Praise the Emperor!" The bridge crew followed suit, bowing their heads toward the Imperial Aquila etched into the bulkhead, whispering fervent prayers of thanks. The distant clatter of boots on steel echoed through the chamber as the bridge doors hissed open. Ten figures enteredofficers clad in dark green carapace armor, their violet eyes gleaming like polished gemstones in the dim light. They took in the starfield beyond, the realization of survival settling over them, and soon joined in the prayers of gratitude. For those who braved the warp, survival was never certain. A warp storm was no mere hazardit was a terror beyond reckoning. To be lost within its depths was a fate worse than death. Entire fleets had been swallowed whole, their ships twisted into shrieking abominations, their crews enslavedor consumedby the horrors lurking in the Sea of Souls. The warp did not obey the laws of the material universe. Distance, time, causalitythese were concepts it ignored or twisted into cruel parodies. A ship might plunge into the Sea of Souls and emerge yearsor centurieslater, light-years from its intended destination. Or worse, it might return to the right coordinates but in the wrong century. Some emerged too late, their minds shattered by the whispers of the Neverborn. And even for those who escaped the storms grasp, there was no true salvation. The warp left its markdeep and festering. Some returned changed. Others brought something back with them. Something that should never have crossed into the realm of the living. For those who survived a warp storm, merely being alive was not the end of the trial. It was only the beginning. Because the question was always the same, always whispered in hushed tones as the Gellar Field fell silent and the void returned: Where are we? .... One of the officers, his expression wary, finally broke the silence. Which system are we in? The captain stepped forward, eyes scanning the familiar constellations beyond the viewport. "Talon," he muttered. "Ive been here before. Did some trading." The officers expression darkened. His fingers curled into a fist. Oh so you really a merchant? The officers voice turned sharp with anger. We deployed an entire regiment to reinforce your world, and you send us back home on a damn Frigate?" The captain smirked, arms crossed, unfazed by the accusation. "What do you want me to do? Execute me? Or do you want to make it back to Cadia?" Tension rippled through the chamber. The officers expressions darkened, their rage restrained but not extinguished. A slow exhale. One of them unclenched his fists, forcing down his frustration. "Can we return to Cadia now?" The merchant shook his head, his amusement never fading. "Not yet. This ship took damagewe need a safe harbor for repairs." The officers jaw tightened, but he knew the truth: without the vessel, his regiment was at the mercy of the void. With a curt nod, he turned to his men. "Each of you will take a squad and visit the planets in the Talon system. Speak with their governorssee if they can aid our repairs." And if they refuse? someone asked. The officer smirked. Then we negotiate. Offer them something in returnperhaps assistance in their war effort. His gaze settled on a scarred man at the back of the room. "Creed," he said. "You and the White Shields will head to Tyrone. I know youre persuasive." Yes, sir. Creed saluted. The officer reached into his coat, pulling out a lho-stick. He pressed it into Creeds palm. "Light this when you meet their Governor. With your face and that Cadian glare, hell assume youre someone important." Creed allowed himself a rare smirk. Aye, sir. Just hope hes the kind that still respects a burning stick and a hard stare. .... The dropship detached from the frigate, its thrusters roaring as it plunged toward Tyrones murky atmosphere. Inside the cockpit, Creed stood behind the pilot, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sprawling hive city below. "Open the side hatch," he ordered The others exchanged puzzled glances but complied. The thick, stale air of the lower atmosphere rushed in, carrying the scent of oil, sweat, and industry. Creed stepped forward, gripping the edge of the open hatch, scanning the urban sprawl below. Like most hive worlds, Tyrones natural environment was beyond ruinthough unlike many others, its decay wasnt purely the result of industrial pollution. The planet had always been barren, its land poor and infertile. At the very least, the air here was still breathable. Yet something was wrong. "Hold off on landing," Creed ordered. He turned to the others. "Look. Tell me whats missing." The soldiers peered down. No nobles. No officials. Only soldiers. Thousands of them. The upper spires, where the ruling elite should have dwelled, were swarming with rowdy, undisciplined troops. But this was no occupation. This was an installation. Bunkers. Barricades. Supply depots. Whoever was in control of Tyrone had turned the Upper hive into a fortress. We should leave, one of his men muttered. No. Were heading lower. Creed placed a hand on the pilots shoulder. Take us into the Lower Hive. .... The pilot found a breach in the hives outer wallsjust wide enough for a risky entry. "Brace for impact, boys," the pilot muttered, strapping on his helmet. The ship roared forward, engines flaring. Metal screamed against metal as they rammed through, forcing their way into the Lower Hive. The men inside hardly reacted, accustomed to such rough landings. As the shuttle ground to a halt, they climbed out, stepping into the dimly lit depths of Tyrone Hives Seventh District. Civilians gathered, wary and uncertain. Their eyes flickered between the unfamiliar Cadian armor and the scars of war surrounding them. Thena patrol arrived. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Creed clocked them instantly. Not PDF. Not standard troops. Power armor. Their gear was too advanced for local militialikely the personal guard of a high-ranking official, perhaps? A nobles retinue? He stepped forward, ready to speak "Thump!" Something heavy landed before him. Heavy. Powerful. Armed. A warrior, clad in ornate armor, his bulk casting a long shadow in the gloom. A shoulder-mounted cannon tracked Creeds every movement, humming with restrained lethality. His helmeted gaze bore down on Creed and his men. "Who are you?" His vox-amplified voice echoed through the street. Creed remained still. No fear. No hesitation. A group of Cadians caught in a warp storm, Creed answered. We require aid. Take me to your commanding officer. "I dont know what a Cadia is," the armored figure said flatly. "I just know youre intruders." Even though many of Creeds troops were fresh , their combat discipline was impeccable. Within moments, they had taken cover, lasrifles raised and trained on their targets. Before the standoff could escalate, Creed stepped forward, directly into the line of fire. "I am Colonel Ursarkar E. Creed of the Cadian 8th Regiment." His voice carried the weight of a place etched into every fiber of his being. "We mean you no harm." Chapter 67: Creed’s Bizarre Adventure The moment Creed uttered his name, the interrogation ceased. No more suspicion, no more questionsjust immediate action. Before he could react, rough hands secured him into some kind of teleport harness, its framework pressing against his back like a crude mockery of a jump pack. Before he could even ask what it was, a shimmering energy field enveloped his body. The air around him distorted, shimmering with a Blue huethen, in an instant, he was gone. .... Creeds boots struck solid ground. The abrupt transition disoriented him. Instinctively, he reached for his laspistol, but the seasoned instincts of a Cadian Shock Trooper held his hand. Assess first. Act second. Before him loomed a fortressnot the spire, not the Governors palace, but a fortification carved into the very bones of the underhive. It was crude, yet effective. A brutal structure, its lines sharp and unfriendly, as if the rockcrete itself had been shaped by anger. Bastion walls rose high, reinforced with black plating of unknown materialdull and scarred, absorbing light like a dead star. The kind of armor that didnt gleam, but warned. Autocannon emplacements sat like iron gargoyles on the parapets, their barrels slowly tracking unseen threats. From above, vox-masts jutted like skeletal branches, bristling with antennae that clawed at the smog-choked sky. A low hum of static filled the air, pulsing through Creeds boots as if the fortress itself were breathing. And then there was the shield generator, impossibly rare for a planetary defense force. It pulsed faintly with power, and the air shimmered around its core like heat haze over a forge. Occasionally, a flicker of its barrier caught the eyetranslucent waves bending the air, making reality blur at the edges. Creeds eyes narrowed. Whoever had built this had serious resourcesmore than most systems could spare, especially for a world this remote. He quickly estimated the garrison at over a thousand troops, all clad in power armor. And yet, something was off. These warriors were undisciplined. Some leaned against the ramparts, idly smoking lho-sticks. Others had removed pieces of their armor, lounging as they played cards. There was no sense of orderno drill sergeants barking commands, no servitors maintaining weaponry. To an outsider, they might look formidable. To a Cadian, it was disgraceful. Creeds thoughts flashed back to his homeworldCadia, the Gatekeeper of the Imperium. A fortress world unlike any other. Located at the mouth of the Eye of Terror, Cadia had stood for ten millennia as the Imperium''s bulwark against the endless horrors of the Warp. On Cadia, war wasnt a profession, it was life. Children learned to field-strip lasguns before they could read. Every citizen was a soldier-in-waiting. The planet didnt breed men, it forged warriors. And Creed was one of Cadias finest. Ursarkar E. Creed, born in the hive city of Kasr Partox, had once been just another underhive urchin. But through wit, determination, and a mind built for war, he rose to become the youngest officer to ever command the Cadian 8th Regiment, the most elite of Cadias famed Shock Troopers. Even among the rigid ranks of the Astra Militarum, Creeds tactical brilliance was legendhis battlefield strategies often described as impossibly lucky, until you realized hed planned ten moves ahead. He had no noble blood, no scholam pedigreejust pure Cadian grit. And now, he stood in a den of slack-jawed PDF troops playing cards. "If the 8th had power armor like this," he muttered under his breath, "wed roll through a Black Legion battalion in twenty minutes." He stepped forward, approaching a group of soldiers huddled around a makeshift table. What in the Emperors name are you doing? Creeds voice cracked like a whip. Are you warriors, or worthless civilians? Have you forgotten your duty? You pathetic swines! The soldiers flinched. A few instinctively straightened, the ghost of long-forgotten drills twitching in their muscles. But then they hesitated. This man wasnt in power armor. He wasnt one of their officers. He was an outsider. One of them sneered, barely looking up from his cards. "Piss off," he scoffed. "A cheap, paper-armored Guardsman like you has no right to talk to us." Creed didnt react outwardly. But inside, he was already counting the seconds it would take to drop the fool with a lasbolt and use his body as cover. On Cadia, such insolence would earn a soldier a month in the penal legionsif they were lucky. But this wasnt Cadia. He had no authority here. A voice sliced through the tension. Ursarkar E. Creed. Creed turned at the sound of his name. A young man approached, casual in posture, but his eyes told another storysharp, focused, dangerous. The moment he arrived, the power-armored troops around them snapped to attention. Creed took note of that. Qin Mo, the man said, stopping before Creed. No need for introductions. I already know who you are. Creed narrowed his eyes. That wasnt normal. He wasnt a spire-born noble. Wasnt a general with a famous name. Officially, he held the rank of Captain in the 8th Regiment. Unofficially, he was already commanding more than his pay grade. Tactically brilliant, stubborn as ceramite, and calm under fire. Creed had led men through hellholes others wouldn''t even map. His name wasnt widely known outside the Guard, and certainly not in outer-rim systems like this. Apparently, that had changed. Creed regarded Qin Mo carefully and decided he was overthinking things. There was no official saluteno formal Imperial gesturebut this man carried himself with the authority of a commanding officer. Out of respect, Creed gave the Aquila salute, even though he technically didnt have to. The Astra Militarum and a planetary defense force (PDF) were not of equal standing. But considering the circumstances .... Qin Mo studied Creed in turn. The Cadian carried himself like the legendary Lord Castellanunyielding, composed, a battlefield commander through and through. A younger version, minus the cigar. He didnt yet bear the scars of command or the weight of a dying world, but the spark was there. In the future, his enemies couldnt break himso in desperation, they burned the planet instead. It was easier to destroy the world than to defeat the man who held it. Under his command, the planet fellbut never the Guard. The name Creed would be etched into history: hero, tactician. Qin Mo had never expected someone like him to crash-land into his underhive. Why didnt you go to the spire? Qin Mo asked. Werent you afraid we were rebels? Creeds eyes swept over the fortress, the power-armored troops, the disorganization hidden beneath an illusion of strength. "Youre no more undisciplined than most planetary defense forces," he replied. "Compared to you lot, the troops stationed in the spire actually look like traitors." Qin Mo chuckled. A strategists insight. Now, what do you want? Creed wasted no time. He recounted everythinghow elements of the Cadian 8th had been reassigned to some Emperor-forsaken backwater System, how their warship had been destroyed, how the planetary governor had had dumped them on a ship to return home, and how a warp storm had trapped them in the Talon system, forcing them to seek aid. Qin Mo listened carefully, then reached into his coat and produced a vox-communicator. Use this, he said. Contact your superiors. Tell them that Talon III is an unknown factor, and that Talon II is entirely in rebel hands. Creed didnt move. His mind worked quickly, assessing the truth of Qin Mos claims. Even if the planet was crawling with enemies, he had faith in the Cadian 8th. They always found a way. "We dont have the resources to repair your ship right now," Qin Mo continued. "But in five or six days, thatll change." He was estimating. In reality, the orbital shipyard would be completed in less than a week. After all, nearly every logistics drone had been redirected to its construction, and the auto-forges were now producing more fabricators to accelerate the process. Creed narrowed his eyes. Shipbuilding and power armor manufacturing were two vastly different endeavors. The ability to arm a regiment didnt necessarily mean one could refit a void-capable vessel. There was an efficiency to Qin Mos operations that Creed couldnt ignore. This fortress, the void shield, the logistics at playthis was more than a simple planetary militia. "Thank you," Creed said at last. "We wont forget your generosity." Qin Mos expression remained unreadable. "Ill repair your ship and give you shelter," he said. "But I need something in return." He gestured toward the assembled troopspower-armored warriors standing in loose formations, their stances sloppy, their discipline lacking, barely maintaining the barest semblance of order. Creed immediately understood. "I need military regulations drafted from scratch," Qin Mo continued. Training programs. Tactical doctrine. I dont expect you to turn them into Cadian Shock Troopers, but at the very least, get them moving in that direction. Discipline had never been a strength of these men. Even Albert, the commander of the 31st Regiment, had been caught sneaking out at night for a casual stroll. Qin Mo had considered fixing it himself, but his priorities were elsewhere. Grey was little more than a common soldier. The only one with formal military education was Klein, and his progressive policies had encouraged half the troops to bribe their way into his unit. At the very least, these men were competent at shock insertion tactics. They hadnt broken ranks in battleyet. Their only real flaw was a complete lack of discipline. Creed exhaled. "I need to report to my superiors first." Deep down, he still wasnt sure if Qin Mo truly had the means to repair a ship. And besides who was to say the rest of the system was really as overrun as Qin Mo claimed? To Creed, life itself was a battlefield. No commander made strategic decisions without accurate intelligence. Qin Mo nodded. Creed opened his mouth to say more The teleport harness activated again. .... When Creed rematerialized, he found himself standing beside the transport ship. A tense standoff was already unfoldinghis men had drawn weapons, locked in a silent battle of wills with Qin Mos troops. Any soldier who saw their commanding officer vanish into thin air would assume the worst. Where did you go, sir? one of his men asked, still on edge. Creed exhaled. Then, to the confusion of his troops, he let out a dry chuckle. I just had a bizarre adventure, he muttered before boarding the transport. His men hesitated, stealing wary glances at Qin Mos forces, then followed, one by one. .... Back on the ship, Creed wasted no time filing his report. He detailed everything about Tyronethe well-equipped but disorganized power-armored troops, the strange teleportation technology, the militarization of the underhive. S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His superior officer listened in silence before finally exhaling. This is highly suspicious, the officer admitted. But we dont have a choice. We have to go to the underhive. Creed frowned. Why? The officers tone darkened. "Because our forces on Talon II and Talon III have both been attacked." Creeds jaw tightened. "And compared to Talon II, the situation on Talon III is even worse. And... corrupted." A chill ran through Creeds spine. Creed had heard it before. His hands curled into fists. "Understood." Chapter 68: Duty and Discipline After thorough deliberation, the Cadian 8th made their choicethey would descend into the underhive of Tyrone. It was a calculated risk, but Creed had weighed his options carefully. If the world above was compromised, then the true battle would begin below. The merchant captain, ever the opportunist, opted to accompany them. Not for duty, not for honor, but for the promise of salvage. Every battlefield was a potential treasure trove to a man who measured worth in thrones and trade goods. Once more, the Cadians entered the hive through the gaping wound their transport had left in its armored exterior. The breach was still jagged, steel and ceramite twisted where the shuttle had forced entry. Sentries halted them immediately, strapping each soldier into teleportation stabilizers before vanishing them into the depths of the underhive. In an instant, they were within New Kato. .... Creed had expected the same young commander from yesterday to greet them, but instead, a new figure awaited them. The man wasted no time. Grey. His voice was clipped, efficient. No need for introductions on your endI already know who you are. The Legion Commander briefed me. Without another word, Grey turned on his heel and led them deeper into the city. The Cadians expected the usual underhive filthcollapsed hab-blocks, filth-choked alleyways, and gangs of mutants picking over the dead. Instead, they found something shocking. The city was clean. Not in the pristine, gilded excess of a spires upper levels, but in the cold, calculated efficiency of a well-maintained war camp. Supply lines were orderly. Streets were reinforced against collapse. There were no vagrants, no aimless loiterers. Every person they passed was engaged in some task, whether it was constructing fortifications, maintaining weapons, or drilling in formation. A war machine was being built here. A sudden mechanical whirring cut through the air. The Cadians tensed, hands drifting toward weapons. A drone had approacheda hovering construct bristling with heavy bolters trained in their direction. Creeds eyes narrowed. Instinct told him to take cover, to reactbut he held. The drone conducted a rapid scan, its optics sweeping over them. After a moment, it withdrew its weaponry and returned to its patrol. Creed exhaled slowly. Such security measures were necessaryany Imperial commander worth his salt knew how quickly an underhive could rot from within. But what troubled him was the method. How did the drone scan them? Who controlled it? Was it guided manually, or was it something far worse? His superior officer caught his eye and gave a subtle nod. Grey spoke without turning. The Legion Commander has assigned you quarters. Fresh water is freely available. Food will be delivered to you by logistics servitors. Creed raised an eyebrow. Servitors delivering meals? That was unusual. Grey continued, his tone unchanging. No matter where you are, if a logistics servitor detects that your stomach is empty, it will provide you with a meal. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. At that moment, a drone descended from the air, hovering before them. Creeds hand twitched toward his laspistol. By the Emperor what is that thing? The servitor was unlike any he had seen beforea sleek, black sphere, its smooth frame bristling with spindly, cable-like appendages. It moved with unsettling precision, its sensors sweeping over them with an inhuman coldness. For a moment, the Cadians hesitated. It resembled the bio-mechanical horrors of the Tyranids. Thenthey saw the Aquila. Etched into the servitors shell was the unmistakable twin-headed eagle of the Imperium. Their doubts evaporated. Only Grey knew the truth. That Aquila had been freshly stamped onto the droneit hadnt originally been there. ["Data input complete."] The Drones voice was a cold, synthetic monotone. Without another word, it drifted away, vanishing into the city. Creed said nothing. He merely followed Grey deeper into New Kato. .... Eventually, they reached a large, reinforced structure at the heart of the city. Their new quarters. The Cadians were given no separation based on rank, nor even by gender. But that didnt matter. Cadians lived, trained, and died together. As Grey turned to leave, Creed called after him. "Trooper. Your power armoraside from the additional shoulder-mounted cannon, how does it differ from the others? Is it stronger?" Grey paused, his head tilting slightly. This armor was hand-forged by the Legion Commander himself. Its superior to mass-produced variants. Creed frowned. "Is he a Tech-Priest? Why would his craftsmanship make it better?" Grey didnt answer. He simply turned and walked away. Creed watched him go, his expression unreadable. But he kept his suspicions to himself. Pulling a worn data-slate from his belt, he began drafting a formal training regimen. Youre taking this far too seriously, his superior remarked. Creed didnt look up. I have to take this seriously. The lack of discipline here makes my skin crawl. For the next several days, Creed refined his training protocols. He toured the underhives garrisons, familiarizing himself with the regiments stationed here. Eventually, he was even issued a standard power armor suit. But despite his efforts, the high-ranking officers of New Kato remained skeptical. Most had heard of the Cadians, the Astra Militarums finest, but few believed Creeds training could be applied to their war doctrine. After all, their battle doctrines were completely different. .... It wasnt until Creed visited the 47th Regiment that he finally encountered a high-ranking officerKlein. Walking through the regiments camp in his new armor, Creed didnt hesitate. "With all due respect, your troops are undisciplined," he said bluntly. "Their lack of discipline is severe." A nearby officerKlein, the commander of the 47tharched an eyebrow. "The 47th is no longer a frontline unit," he replied. "We serve as advisors, and I admit, standards have slipped. Thats on both my men and myself." He gestured around. "Our duty is to garrison the Legion Commanders fortress. For that role, strict discipline isnt essential." Creed stopped walking. By the Emperor how do you expect to protect him with this level of discipline? And how does he trust you to? Klein smirked. He doesnt actually need protection, he admitted. "Hes stronger than all of us combined." Creed nearly scoffed. Impossible. Before he could argue, something caught his attention. A soldier. The same one who had insulted him days prior. Creed strode over. "Funny. Werent you the one who called me a paper-armored grunt yesterday?" The soldier stiffened. Apologies, sir. But his eyes flicked to Creeds new power armor, and a smirk formed. But now that youve ditched the paper suit, I guess youve earned the right to talk to me. Creeds eyes narrowed. The soldier held his gaze. Klein thought about intervening but decided against it. " "Attack me." The soldier hesitated. "Sir" "Attack me, coward." The insult cut deep. Every soldier here had endured overwhelming odds against hordes of Cultist. They had held their ground despite being outnumbered dozens to one. None of them considered themselves cowards. With a snarl, the soldier swungonly for Creed to twist, seize his arm, and slam him to the ground in a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. The soldier hit the dirt, dazed. Klein sighed, hauling him back to his feet. "Avoid that Cadian from now on." Creed exhaled, revising his assessment of the regiment. These men had camaraderie. Bonds. But those bonds had led to complacency. He turned back to his quarters. He needed to adjust his training programs. He tailored new programs for each regiment based on his observations. But before he could implement them War came again. Chapter 69: Great Minds Think Alike Outside New Katos command building, four regiments had assembled in perfect formation, standing at rigid attention as they conducted final inspections of their gear. The air buzzed with anticipation, a collective hunger for battle simmering beneath their disciplined facade. It had been several days since their last engagement. Too long. Now, at last, they would spill blood once more. .... "Spread out, lads! Id rather not return your fused corpses to your families!" "The Lord Commander! Hes here!" "I wont be wearing a helmet in battle, sir! That way, youll see my bravery firsthand!" A wave of cheers, gallows humor, and half-sincere bravado rippled through the ranks as Qin Mo advanced, flanked by Klein and Creed. Creed observed the assembled troops with an analytical gaze. Something was off. They werent moving. For a moment, he considered the possibility of a last-minute briefing, but then the answer dawned on himobvious yet utterly improbable. They werent marching into battle. They were about to be teleported. Qin Mo, reading Creeds expression, confirmed it. Theyll be teleported. Creed exhaled slowly. Mass teleportation of infantry was a technological feat almost unheard of in the Astra Militarum. "Is the technology stable?" he asked, skepticism creeping into his tone. "Stable," Qin Mo replied without hesitation. Creed said nothing more, but his mind raced. Mass teleportation as a standard deployment strategy? If true, this could reshape the nature of warfare. .... They entered the command spires highest level, stepping into a war room that pulsed with blue light and tactical overlays. The center of the room was dominated by a massive holo-display, a slowly rotating model of the battlefield. Above the enemy-occupied hive sprawl, recon drones prowled through the tangled exhaust towers and industrial pipe networks, their optical cloaks allowing them to blend into the hive city. A flick of Qin Mos hand brought the battlefield into sharper relief. Enemy movements, unit placements, and projected supply lines flickered into view. On the side of the display, a running data-scroll listed troop strengths, estimated reserves, and defensive installations. "Two hundred thousand troops," Qin Mo noted. The number didnt surprise him. What did surprise him was the presence of an Imperial Knight. He expanded the projection, zooming in. There it was, an Errant-class Knight. The war machine stood at the heart of the enemy formation, its Avenger Gatling Cannon primed and flamer vents glowing with residual heat. A walking bastion of ceramite and adamantium, over 12 meters (forty feet) tall, bristling with weapons and crowned by a sensor-crowned carapace that scanned the battlefield with machine precision. "How do we kill that?" Klein asked. For the first time, Qin Mo remained silent. Creed did not. "If we dont have war engines of equal size, well need fast attack units to rush it down, get under it, and plant melta charges between its legs." Klein scoffed. "Youve got to be joking." He gestured toward the holo-display. "Its wielding Avenger Gatling Cannons. You do know those are enhanced Assault Cannons, right? They chew through tanks, let alone infantry." Hes correct. Qin Mos voice cut in. A Knight wasnt just a unit. It was a symbol of dominance, a legacy of the feudal houses of old Terra, clad in armor forged during the Age of Technology. Designed for single-combat duels and mass battlefield control, it could lay waste to entire companies with its heavy weapons while weathering return fire like a fortress on legs. On an open battlefield, it could alter the tide of war by its presence alone. Infantry formations were forced to scatter or hide, armored divisions redirected to avoid direct confrontation, and air support limited to skimming strikes to avoid the Knights powerful anti-air flak systems. A Knightespecially an Errantwas best countered by another Knight. Lacking one, there was only one viable alternative: a high-speed charge to plant explosive charges at its weakest points. In theory, it was possible. In practice, success would depend entirely on terrain and execution. Creed stared at the display, imagining the timing, the coordination it would takeseconds would make the difference between glory and annihilation. Qin Mo minimized the Knights display and shifted his focus to the broader battlefield. Compared to their last engagement, the rebel formations had changed. "They''ve tightened their ranks," Creed muttered. Spacing between regiments was less than a kilometer a deliberate counter to teleport insertion tactics. It wasnt a brilliant strategy, but it was a necessary one. The rebels had adapted. No fool commanded an army of two hundred thousand soldiers. Circumstances had forced them into this deployment. Qin Mo marked the Knights location on the map. "Ill deal with the Knight personally." He turned to Creed. "Youre not under my command, but if you have tactical suggestions, Id appreciate them." Creed wasnt yet the Lord Castellan who would one day make Abaddon lose his temper. But even now, he was an exceptional strategist. And since he had accepted the power armor, he would repay that favor with his expertise. "What forces do we have?" Creed asked. He hoped the infantry regiments he had observed over the past few days werent the entirety of the army. If they were, this battle would be far more difficult. Qin Mo gestured over the holo-display. The full military strength of New Kato appeared. Sar?h the ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Seventeen combined-arms regiments of infantry and armor. Two thousand self-propelled artillery pieces, fully autonomous. Five additional elite warriors. Creed frowned. "What good are five men?" Klein smirked. Theyre worth entire regiments on their own. Creed gave a curt nod. Hed reserve judgment until he saw them in action. .... "Can we teleport our forces straight to the frontlines?" Creed asked. "Of course," Qin Mo replied. "But there are conditions." He explained the limitations. Mass troop deployment was possible, yes, but it required a clear landing zone or an active beacon. Without one, there was a significant risk of materializing inside structures or terrain obstructions. Creed exhaled, eyes gleaming. "By the Emperor Ive never fought a war with this level of logistical advantage." He leaned forward, studying the display. Then, he outlined his strategy: They would deploy ten regiments directly into the enemys forward lines and establish defensive positions in sectors thirteen through seventeen to prevent enemy advances. Meanwhile, seven regiments would be teleported around the enemy perimeternot to engage immediately, but to probe, scout, and locate structural weaknesses in the enemys lines. Once those weak points were identified, they would launch a decisive breakthrough. Shock troops would follow to tear open the enemy formation and move immediately to eliminate the Knight. If the Knight proved too difficult to destroy in the open, they would lure it into the city, where urban warfare would neutralize its maneuverability. Ambushes would be laid in the hives inner districts, kill-zones prepared. Artillery would be positioned behind the city, their range covering the entire battlefield. If a direct hit on the Knight landed, all the better. Creed finished his briefing and turned to Qin Mo. "These are just my recommendations. The final decision is yours." Qin Mo studied the display for a long moment before finally smiling. "Looks like we think alike." He lifted a vox-unit and began issuing orders. As the army mobilized, Creed noticed something peculiar about their regimental numbers. They werent sequential. The first regiment was the 48th. The next was the 31st, followed by the 87th. Then, it clicked. He had heard from the soldiers that the First Legion had been nearly wiped out in the underhive. Perhaps this was Qin Mos way of honoring their sacrifice. Qin Mo turned back to Creed. "Youve been extremely diligent these past few days. I know youre planning beyond just training the troopsyoure trying to establish a full officer training program. Once I repair your ship, Ill grant you one additional request as a reward." Creed shook his head. "Theres no need for a reward. This is simply my duty." Klein chuckled. "You might want to reconsider that. Or youll regret it for the rest of your life." Qin Mo smirked. Hes right. Chapter 70: A Ruthless Warning With orders given, the mass teleportation began. The ten defensive regiments were the first to deploy, led by Duncans 87th. They materialized just outside their assigned defensive positions, their arrival marked by flashes of violet-edged light. Without hesitation, they moved into formation, fortifying their zones and assisting in the evacuation of civilians. Meanwhile, the remaining seven regiments, along with Grey and his strike team, remained stationed at the command building, waiting for their turn to be deployed. .... Duncans Leman Russ Command Tank roared through the ruined streets at full throttle. Its adamantium-plated hull plowed through the front of a decrepit hab-block, collapsing the facade in a thunderous crash. With a sharp pivot, the tank rotated to face the main road, locking into position. Powering down, it became a steel bunker. Inside, Duncan monitored the situation. "Colonel, why arent we attacking immediately like before?" his gunner asked. "No idea," Duncan admitted. His orders were simple. Teleport. Move into position. Fortify. That was it. As for higher strategic intent? Lord Commander Qin Mo hadnt said a word. Duncan didnt care. His job wasnt to question ordersit was to execute them. He looked down at the holo-display inside his modified Leman Russ Vanquisher, a command variant that traded firepower for tactical superiority. The command modifications included: Holographic battlefield displays.Advanced vox-transceivers.Biometric scanners.Terrain-mapping auspex systems. Everything a battlefield commander needed. A real-time scan of the battlefield flickered to lifea two-kilometer radius of buildings, streets, and potential chokepoints. Duncan studied the layout, then picked up the vox-transceiver. "First Company, take positions in the church." "Second Company, deploy to the seventh tower from the left." "All other companies, fortify the streets. Use the strongest structures for cover." His commands were relayed with the precision of a lifetime in war. The other regiments followed similar protocols, locking down their sectors with hardened defenses. .... The biometric scanners pulsed. [Enemy forces detected.] They materialized on the holo-map, their formations highlighted in crimson. Duncans eyes narrowed. Now he understood, the reason for their defensive stance. The traitors had adapted. Their formations were tighter, regiments positioned closely together. If one unit came under attack, another could immediately reinforce. If the First Legion forces had teleported in for a shock assault like before, they would have been encircled and annihilated. But that didnt mean teleport tactics were useless. The key now was chaos. The more disorganized the battlefield, the more effective teleport shock assaults would become. Duncan keyed the vox-network. "Enemy approaching. Prepare for combat." .... Inside fortified buildings, First Legion troops braced their weapons, scopes locked on enemy movement. The dim interior was lit only by the amber glow of status lights and the flicker of targeting runes. A marksman positioned in a crumbling tower spotted the first enemy in his crosshairsbut he didnt fire. More hostiles were moving behind them. Their heat signatures flared to life on every soldiers HUD. Even those deep inside structures, unable to see the battlefield, could track enemy outlines through the walls. Duncans voice crackled across the vox. "Fire at will." The First Legion line erupted. Lascannon blasts, bolter volleys, and artillery rounds tore through the enemy ranks. Tanks hidden within ruined buildings unleashed coordinated cannon fire, reducing entire squads to vaporized remains. The first wave of traitors was shredded. Even though the traitors had anticipated an ambush, the ferocity of the First Legion counterattack still caught them off guard. Only after sustaining crippling losses did the enemy fall back, seeking cover at the outskirts of the defensive perimeter. Then, from the rear of the First Legion position, the artillery opened fire. Explosions erupted among the traitor regiments, tearing apart squads before they could regroup. Duncans sector had fired the first shot. Now, across multiple defensive zones, the other First Legion regiments joined the battle, triggering full-scale engagements. Meanwhile The remaining seven regiments were teleported into the enemys flanks and rear, probing for weak points. .... Atop the Governors Throne, Venomfang sat cross-legged, observing the battlefield through his psychic sight. A lowly aide approached. "Weve engaged the enemy," the aide reported. Venomfang didnt even open his eyes. "Do you think Im blind?" he sneered, dismissing the aide with a lazy wave. Thanks to the Blessing of the Lord of Wisdom, he could see through the eyes of every soldier on the battlefield. And what he saw did not make sense. Something was wrong. Very wrong. .... Venomfang had assumed that Qin Mo was a brute, someone who relied on overwhelming firepower rather than tactical finesse. He had expected another reckless assault, a relentless charge. But that wasnt happening. The First Legion forces had fortified their advance routes. They were probing his lines with flanking forces. This wasnt a flashy maneuver. This wasnt deception. This was the smart way to fight. And it deeply unsettled him. The aide hesitated. "Do we still advance?" Venomfangs patience snapped. "Do not distract me!" Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Silence. Venomfangs mind raced. His forces were locked into formation, forced into defensive clustering due to teleportation tactics. If the enemys teleportation had been unstable, he could have used rituals to disrupt it. But it wasnt. Of course we continue advancing. Have each regiment support one another. No panic, no disorder. If anyone breaks ranks, Ill burn their entire family alive. Understood. The aide bowed and left. Venomfang returned to his thoughts. He prided himself on winning through cunning, but the enemys teleportation advantage forced him to rely on simplistic tactics that he despised. So now, he had no choice but to keep his forces tight, ensuring mutual reinforcement. And he knew its greatest weakness. Not artillery fire. Not siege tactics. But morale collapse. One crack in the line, one regiment faltering under pressure, and his entire force would unravel. And when that happened the battle would be lost. Venomfangs expression darkened. "Send a message to the 20th Regiment commander." The aide nodded. "Shall I offer reinforcements?" Venomfang smirked. "No. Give him a warning." His voice dropped to a whisper. "If he dares to retreat under enemy fire, he better fight to the deathbecause if he doesnt Ill skin him alive myself. And Ill use his spine as a banner pole." Chapter 71: The Breakthrough Opportunity The holo-display projected the battlefield in perfect clarity. The heretic forces were trapped, compressed from multiple angles, their formations squeezed between the unyielding First Legion defenses and the relentless teleport assaults striking their rear. At first glance, the pincer maneuver looked devastating. But from the perspective of individual soldiers, the reality was different. The enemy wasnt crushed yet. They still had room to maneuver. Their frontline regiments pushed forward under constant fire, while their flanks scrambled to contain the First Legion troops teleporting directly into their midst. One regiment, however, bore the worst of the chaos. .... The 20th Regiment. Its commander, having recently received a brutal warning from Venomfang, was now ruthlessly enforcing discipline. "If I see a single coward, I will execute you myself!" he roared, his voice crackling through the vox. He screamed and threatened his men relentlessly, telling them that if they so much as flinched, they wouldnt need to worry about the enemyhe would execute them personally. To reinforce his point, he grabbed a ripper gun and opened fire on retreating soldiers. But fear alone was not enough to hold back an Imperial onslaught. The sky burned with plasma detonations, and the ground trembled beneath the advancing Imperials. The heretic troops were crumbling, their lines disintegrating under the weight of the assault. Explosions tore through the battlefield, bodies launched like ragdolls, vaporized by the sheer volume of firepower. The Imperial Leman Russ tanks rumbled forward, their guns pounding their positions without pause. Despite their slow movement, their constant fire left no openings. The heretics conventional weaponry could only hope to damage them in the brief moments when the tanks discharged their own shots. The 20th Regiment commander clenched his jaw. Even he was on the verge of losing his nerve. To make matters worse, the Imperial army was still advancing forwardbut the 20th Regiment was forced to fight in retreat. Engaging while moving backward, struggling to maintain both discipline and momentum without showing fear. A Talon II PDF regiment wasnt built for this kind of warfare. It was an impossible standard to meet. .... Desperate, the commander turned to a nearby soldier. "You, come here." The soldier snapped to attention. "Strap a melta bomb to your chest. Charge their tanks." The soldiers face turned ghostly pale. "M-me?" "Are you refusing?" The commander pressed his laspistol against the mans temple. "You dont go? I execute you right now." The soldier hesitated. His eyes darted between the merciless enemy ahead and his own ruthless commander behind him. Desperately, he tried to plead for mercy. "But, sir Ive served under you for so lo" "BANG!" A single lasbolt burned through his skull. The commander turned to another soldier. "You. Come here." He shoved another melta charge into the mans hands. "For the Lord of Wisdom, I order you to destroy their tanks." This time, the second soldier obeyed without hesitation. He had seen what disobedience meant. "For the Lord of Wisdom!" he roared, strapping the bomb to his back and sprinting toward the Imperial Leman Russ tanks. "Cover him! Cover him!" The remaining heretics, desperate to avoid being next, provided suppressing fire, blasting wildly at the Imperial line to ensure his suicide run succeeded. The soldier felt emboldened, convinced his god had chosen him. He ran without fear. "For the Lord of Wisdom!" The soldier sprinted across the battlefield, growing more and more distant from his squad. .... As he charged, something felt off. There werent many shots being fired at him. One of the Imperial officers even peeked out from a Leman Russ hatch, looking directly at him Yet gave no order to fire. The Imperial troops continued their advance, seemingly ignoring the charging suicide bomber. "The Lord of Wisdom watches over me!" The bombers faith intensified, believing he had been blessed, allowed to sprint directly into enemy lines undetected. Then He saw it. A floating drone, hovering ominously above the Imperial front line. Its holo-projector flashed a warning: [DO NOT APPROACH.] But the bomber was undeterred. He believed in his divine mission, convinced that his god would ensure his glorious sacrifice. And then His foot crossed an invisible boundary. In an instanthis legs were pulverized. An invisible force struck him like an industrial hammer. His bones shattered, his flesh crushed into pulp. Now he understood. Now he realized why the warning had been there. And why the Imperials hadnt bothered to shoot him. His survival instincts took over. He desperately tried to crawl backward, away from the drones crushing field. But the drone advanced faster. It glided over his broken body. And in an instanthe was reduced to a red smear. .... Inside a Leman Russ command tank, the Imperial regimental commander sneered. "What an idiot." He leaned forward, issuing a command to the gravity-shielded drone, directing it to push further into enemy lines. The gravity-shielded drones surged forward. Panic erupted among the heretic ranks. They knew exactly what would happen if those machines reached them. They fired desperately at the small, fast-moving machine, but their shots were wild and ineffective. And without covering fire, they became easy targets for Imperial counterfire. .... Inside the war room, Creed immediately spotted the weakness in the enemys formation. One regimentthe, 20th was breaking. Sar?h the n??el Fire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Their troops were hiding, falling back, their discipline fracturing. Creed pointed at the holo-display. "This is it. This is where we concentrate our breakthrough force." Qin Mo nodded. "Agreed." He activated his vox-transceiver. "Grey, Anruida, Yoan prepare for teleportation. Once you arrive, begin your assault immediately." .... Inside New Kato, Grey received the order. He turned to Anruida and Yoan, both seated, their Thunderborn power armor gleaming. They exchanged nods, then stood together, preparing for deployment. Qin Mo turned to the Master Control AI, issuing a command to calculate their teleport coordinates. Until now, Qin Mo had held the Thunderborns back due to the presence of the enemy Knight. Creed, however, was puzzled. "Youre only sending three?" Qin Mo smirked. "Thats all we need." Thunderborn-Pattern power armor wasnt standard Imperial wargear. It had been designed to allow a single warrior to match an entire regiment. This was the perfect moment to deploy them. He gave one last order: "Avoid direct engagement with the Knight. Play it safe until I arrive." Greys response was immediate. "Understood." Qin Mo set down the vox-transceiver, then turned to Creed. "Im leaving things here to you." Klein frowned. "Wait, doesnt the teleport system need to recharge?" Qin Mo chuckled. "Weve only teleported twice this battle. Its not like before, when we were deploying entire armies in seconds. Were good for now." He stepped toward the exit. "As for the pursuit phase Ill be back to recharge it when we need it." Chapter 72: The Joy of War and the Grand Plan The moment the breakthrough opportunity was identified, Grey and his two comrades were teleported onto the battlefield. Within a single second, their bodies shifted from an incorporeal state back into physical form. There was no hesitation. The three warriors charged forward, their Thunderborn-pattern power armor amplifying their speed, their servo-assisted actuators propelling them forward at inhuman velocity. Thentheir jump packs ignited. A burst of searing exhaust propelled them forward at breakneck speed. The heretics had no time to react. Their personal gravity shields and layered ceramite plating were already capable of absorbing lasgun fire, but the sheer velocity of their assault rendered enemy reaction meaningless. Of the hundreds of shots fired, only three came close. None landed. As they closed in, the three warriors synchronized their movements, switching their shoulder-mounted cannons to Mortar Mode. Nine plasma orbs surged skyward Then rained down as a deadly storm of energy blasts, tearing through the heretical soldiers of the 20th Talon II Planetary Defense Regiment. Entire formations were wiped out instantly. Their arrival sent shockwaves through the battlefield. The Lord Commanders elite guard! Theyre here! Inside a Leman Russ battle tank, a Commissar saw the charge and roared with renewed morale. There was no need for speeches. Their very presence was enough to inspire the First Legion defenders. The First Legion troops surged forward, their faith rekindled, the very thought of fighting alongside legends driving them into a fervor. .... "Wh-what in the Warp are those things?!" The 20th Regiments commander paled as he watched Grays squad bear down on them. He fumbled for his vox, calling for reinforcements. But he was already too late. Venomfang had foreseen this. He had already diverted additional armor and infantry to intercept the assault. Four Leman Russ tanks and an entire battalion of infantry broke away from the flanking forcediverted to stop the trio. They would not succeed. .... ["Enemy armored vehicles detected."] Greys HUD flashed with targeting markers. The four Leman Russ tanks were highlighted in glowing red runes. There was no need for coordination. Those wearing Thunderborn-class power armor fought under an unspoken rule: The vanguard clears the pathincluding tanks and transports. Greys shoulder-mounted plasma cannon adjusted. But rather than manually aiming, he utilized a technique he had refined in countless battles: Feeding the battlefield data directly into the weapons machine spirit. The targeting matrix processed the information instantly Firing solutions calculated. Adjustments made. Before Grey even pulled the trigger, the system had already determined the optimal point of impact. One second. The plasma cannon fired. A crimson beam of condensed energy surged forward, lancing through the first Leman Russ, its plating melting like wax. Even as the first tank detonated, the cannon was already re-targeting. The second and third shots followed immediately. To the outside observer, it was as if three simultaneous beams had fired at once. Three tanks exploded in unison. One remained. The cannon vented heat, recalibrated And fired one last time. The final Leman Russ collapsed in a molten wreck, its turret blown skyward. Grey never slowed. He charged through the flames, leaving the burning husks behind. .... "STOP THEM!" "CLOSE THE GAP!" The heretic troops panicked. They opened fire, unleashing a barrage of shots upon Grey, Anruida, and Yoan. But it was futile. Solid projectile rounds shattered uselessly against their gravity shields. Las-fire was absorbed outright, converted into raw energy to fuel their armor. They were unstoppable. Their shoulder-mounted cannons continued to fire, cutting down heretics with merciless precision. At the same time, their wrist-mounted laser weapons unleashed blinding volleys, tearing through the enemy ranks. Some heretics sought cover behind the wreckage of their own tanks Only to be obliterated by targeted plasma blasts, their bodies vaporized alongside their makeshift shields. Others were crushed beneath Greys gravity shield, their bones turning to powder under the crushing force. Some were torn apart by scatter-laser shrapnel. Their agonized screams filled the air. For themdeath was slow. For Grey, death was an afterthought. .... They were the elite warriors of Qin Mo. Though officially designated as the Lord Commanders personal guard, their true nature was far more terrifying. They were his Champions. A contingency force. Designed for the worst-case scenariowhere the entire Hive fell to the Genestealer Cult Uprising. The only solution in such a nightmare scenario? An army of warriors who could fight the swarm alone. Against such a force, the Heretics had no chance. They could only die. The only way they could be stopped was if the enemy concentrated their entire armored division against them An impossible move, as Imperial reinforcements were pressing the heretics from all directions. .... "Were finished." The 20th Regiments commander stood frozen, unable to move. But it wasnt only fear of the Imperials that paralyzed him. It was fear of Venomfang. Venomfangs "flaying" was not a metaphor. It was not a execution. It was slow. Agonizing. A punishment so severe, death was a mercy denied. Desperate, the commander whispered prayers. Prayers to the Great Architect of Fate. Prayers for a miracle. Then A soldier beside him turned. His voice was different. ?"We have permission to retreat."? The commanders heart leapt. Thank you, Warmaster!" He spun around, ready to flee But his body refused to obey. His muscles locked. He slowly turned back toward the battlefield. His grip tightened around his ripper gun. A twisted snarl formed on his lips, he raised his weapon and charged at Gray. ?"For the Great Architect!"? Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It was not his voice. But it no longer mattered. Grey deactivated his gravity shield for a split second. And slammed his shoulder forward. His jump pack ignitedadding momentum. The commander''s body disintegrated on impact, reduced to a crimson mist. Grey never slowed. He reactivated his gravity shield and continued forward. .... Far away, in the Spires throne room Venomfang watched through a scrying crystal. He placed a six-eyed gemstone onto the thrones armrest And laughed mockingly. "That fool actually fell for it! He really thought he could run! HAHAHA!" His servants chuckled nervously. But then Venomfangs smile vanished. His eyes darkened. His fingers curled into fists. "Were finished. Either the Governor sends a ship to extract me Or he sends reinforcements. Otherwise Im leaving Talon I." My lord the attendant trembled. What of the knight named Aelann? Let him die. Hell buy us time. The governor hates House Lannis anyway. They dont even worship the Omniscient One. Venomfang sneered, his voice laced with contempt. Others may have thought Venomfang mad, but his servant knew the truththis was all a game. Betrayal, deception, schemingit was all part of the fun. And a much bigger plan. The Order of the Omniscient Mind thrived on it. Before the enemy reaches the upper hive or the spire, carry out the task I gave you. Venomfang ordered suddenly. As you command. The servant bowed. Chapter 73: The Blade of Fear At the center of the battle line, towering over the chaos, Sir Lannis Aelann piloted his Errant-class Knight, , with reckless abandon, completely oblivious to the fact that his entire armys frontline was crumbling. Twin Avenger Gatling Cannons thundered, spitting a relentless storm of shells that shredded the fortified buildings ahead. Each barrel spun with mechanical fury, discharging thousands of high-velocity rounds per minute. Armored walls that could withstand hours of sustained fire from conventional tanks were reduced to slag in seconds. In just three seconds, entire structures collapsed. Dozens of Imperial defenders were buried alive beneath rubble and twisted steel. A Knight was not simply a war machine, it was a walking apocalypse. Standing over 12 meters (forty feet) tall, armored in ceramite and adamantium, and powered by an ancient plasma reactor, it could go toe-to-toe with entire armored columns and emerge unscathed. In raw destructive capability, a single Knight could rival a battle group of Leman Russ tanksand outpace them in both speed and precision. Aelann relished the raw firepower at his disposal. And so did his Knights machine-spirit. It pulsed within the Throne Mechanicum like a second heartbeat, faster, heavier. Beneath his seat, sacred circuits hummed in time with his rage, feeding it, shaping it. Not a tool, but a presencecold, hungry, ancient. Unlike most Knights of his lineage, whose machine-spirits craved the dance of melee, demanding their pilots quench their bloodlust with blade and lance. Roaring Tempest was different. It hungered for annihilation. It existed to erase. .... "Burn! Die! ALL OF YOUDIE!" Aelann roared, his Gatling Cannons tracking a squad of enemy soldiers as they scrambled from a collapsing hab-block. The majority of his rounds detonated nearby, shrapnel slicing through flesh and armor. Yet not a single soldier fell. Aelanns blood boiled. Floating above them, an unmanned combat drone. Its underside shimmered, an invisible gravity shield absorbing every shot. The defiance enraged him. ?"CURSE YOU!"? Aelann snarled. Few things infuriated him more than shielded enemies. His Knights machine-spirit howled in unison. Its vox-grille emitted a shriek not broadcasted by any system, a warped echo of Aelanns own fury. They would not tolerate this insult. "Woom!" A deep, resonating hum vibrated through the battlefield as Roaring Tempest halted its advance, lowering itself into a braced firing position. Its missile pod bay rose into firing position. One. Two. Three missiles launched in rapid succession. The warheads arced high into the sky before plummeting down upon their marked targets in a cascade of fire and devastation. The explosions were not merely violent, they were cataclysmic. Each warhead unleashed the equivalent of an orbital strike in miniature, flattening dozens of meters in every direction. The drone was obliterated. Human bodie parts and shattered power armor were flung in all directions. Aelann laughed with delight. He could feel it Roaring Tempest laughed alongside him. The rhythmic whirring of the Avenger Gatling Cannons, the deep tremor of missile strikes, the sheer destruction he wrought It was intoxicating. .... His mind drifted back. To his youth on Talon II. Back when he was just a boy, playing Knight duels with wooden sticks, pretending to be an Imperial hero. But he had never liked melee combat. He despised it. Why charge with a chainblade When you can annihilate from a distance? His family disagreed. They scorned him, calling him a disgrace to the House of Lannis, shaming him for not respecting the traditions of their Knightly House. His House, like many Knight Houses was steeped in old codes of honor, rooted in ritual and glory. To them, close combat was a matter of pride, a sacred tradition passed from generation to generation. Pilots were expected to charge into battle with blades drawn, not stand back and spray bullets from afar. His relatives mocked him, ridiculing him for wanting a Knight armed with twin Avenger Gatling Cannons. But when he bonded with Roaring Tempest, everything changed. Unlike the other war machines of his House It did not scorn him. It did not resist him. It welcomed him. Not in words. Not in sounds. But in pulses of emotion and flashes of vision. He remembered standing before the Throne Mechanicum, the technicians still chanting litanies, and feeling... seen. As if something vast and ancient had turned its eye on him and whispered ??. In that he found acceptance, a purpose. No rituals. No politics. Just destruction, pure and uncompromising. And together, they would carve their own path. .... "My family talks of HONOR?" Aelann scoffed, his Gatling Cannons roaring with another volley of destruction. "A craven lineage Exiled from our homeworld for losing a political struggle. Speaks of HONOR?" They had once ruled a world until politics, betrayal, and pride tore it from them. Other Houses had schemed better. Fought dirtier. And now House Lannis was just another Noble house on a forgotten planet in the galactic margins, exiles in all but name. His rage fueled his machine. With every shot fired, they mocked the legacy of his bloodline. With every demolition, they rejected the ideals that caged him. "I AM THE BLADE OF FEAR! FOR THE ARCHITECT OF FATE!" Aelann surged forward, the battlefield trembling beneath each titanic step. Infantry scattered in terror, barely avoiding being crushed. A Leman Russ tank wasnt as lucky. With one massive stomp, Roaring Tempest caved in its hull, sending a shockwave of destruction through the battlefield. Panicked soldiers screamed warnings. Too late. His second step came down onto their heads, pulverizing them instantly. Explosions continued to rock the battlefield, shells and lasfire pelting Roaring Tempests armor. Aelann paid them no mind. He was lost in the slaughter Unaware of the final obstacle standing before him. .... A shimmering tear in space flickered before him. A rift in reality itself, bending the laws of physics From its depths, a figure emerged. A man. Draped in black and gold armor. Carrying an Aquila staff. Qin Mo stepped forward, his eyes locking onto the rampaging Knight. Even as Roaring Tempest continued its slaughter, Qin Mo remained motionless. He watched as the Knights silhouette moved within the haze, its footsteps alone collapsing weakened structures. Entire squads had been lost in seconds, crushed, vaporized, or flung like dolls by concussive force. The air reeked of burning promethium and scorched flesh. His mind raced. The devastation was staggering. "I should have planned for this," he muttered. "A Knight. Here. On this wretched, backwater hellhole." He had anticipated infantry hordes, even armored columns But he had not specifically designed countermeasures for Knights. And why would he have? Knight Houses were rarities, fading remnants of feudal empires scattered across the Imperium like old myths clinging to relevance. Their war machines were typically bound to strategically vital sectors, or called upon by High Lords only in dire circumstances. To see one here in an insignificant system, was not just unexpected. It was almost absurd. A Knight meant noble blood. Generational oaths. Support crews, infrastructure, a family legacy measured in steel and fire. None of that belonged here. Not on a forsaken rock like this. That was his mistake. A mistake he would now rectify. "The enemy battle line is in complete disarray." Greys voice crackled through Qin Mos vox-link. "Excellent," Qin Mo nodded. "Now, lets put an end to this Knight." Grey, Anruida, and Yoan altered course, rushing toward Roaring Tempests position. Aelann finally noticed Qin Mo standing in his path. His response? The highest form of respect By unleashing every round from his twin Avenger Gatling Cannons on him. A hail of shells rained down. sea??h th Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But none reached him. Qin Mos gravity shield absorbed everything. Explosions erupted around him. Smoke and debris clouded the air. Aelann grinned. Until his heat-vision cut through the smoke And Qin Mo was still standing, completely unharmed. .... Aelann advanced, cannons roaring hellfire Then his world tilted. Without warning, Roaring Tempests right leg sank into the ground. Aelanns eyes widened. The metallic surface of the Hive hadnt collapsed. It had simply ceased supporting his weight. "This isIMPOSSIBLE! YOUR A DAEMON!!!" Aelann struggled to comprehend what was happening. The ground was still there, but it acted like liquid beneath his feet. Aelann frantically fired at Qin Mo, but physics itself betrayed him. Qin Mo twisted the laws of reality Gravity altered. Projectile trajectories bent mid-flight. The Gatling Cannon rounds, hundreds of them, screamed through the air in chaotic spirals, only to loop around like furious predators and slam directly back into . The first impacts struck its shoulder plating, then its hip, then directly into the shattered seams of its own exposed armature. A split-second later a chain of secondary explosions followedinternal ammunition cooking off, armor plates detonating outward like shrapnel from a dying star. A metallic screech echoed across the battlefield as Roaring Tempests right arm crumpled, the elbow joint torn open, cabling flailing like severed tendons, one of the twin Avenger Gatling Cannons crashing to the ground with a scream of rending steel. Fire blossomed from its knee actuator, and smoke poured from its back ventsblack, oily, choking. Aelann was hurled sideways within the cockpit, thrown against his restraints as sparks burst from the interface node. He gasped, tasting blood. His vision flickeredmachine-spirit feedback surged, turning pain into data, data into agony. Qin Mo stood untouched. He didnt move. He didnt need to. Space itself moved for him. He raised one hand. Aelann felt the pressure shiftnot wind, not force, but an unseen weight pressing down on Roaring Tempest, as though the Knight was being crushed beneath the boot of a god. Servos shrieked. Hydraulic limbs buckled. One knee crackedliterally cracked, like a mountains crust under stress. The left Gatling Cannon began to spool up But before Aelann could fire, Qin Mo twisted his wrist. Reality kinked. The weapon imploded in on itself, the barrels crushed like tin under impossible pressure. Fragments exploded outward, metal shards peppering Roaring Tempests torso, punching through adamantium plating like it was paper. Aelann screamed. Not in pain, but in fury. In denial. In disbelief. He had never lost control of Roaring Tempest. Not once. But now, the Knight shuddered beneath him. The machine-spirit howled, not in rage, but in confusion. Fear. And something else answered a presence ancient and vast, watching from within the Rift. Qin Mo took a single step forward. "You dont understand," he said, his voice calm and unyielding through the Knights own vox systems. "This battlefield doesnt belong to you anymore. It belongs to me." Chapter 74: The True Master of Talon I "You are not needed for now," Qin Mo ordered. Grey, who had been rushing over to provide immediate support, acknowledged the command and disengaged. Qin Mo, ever cautious, had prepared for the worst-case scenario, but it was no longer necessary. The battlefield had already shifted decisively in their favor. With the immediate threat neutralized, Qin Mo strode forward, his gaze fixed upon the ruined husk of the fallen Knight. The once-magnificent war engine, a towering relic of the Mechanicums might, lay broken and crumpled like a discarded puppet. Smoke curled from its shattered helm, the machine spirit within silenced forever. Then, suddenlymovement. A gargantuan, dented arm twitched, hydraulics screeching as the Knight attempted a final, desperate strike. But before the blow could connect, Qin Mo extended his will. The air shimmered with reality-bending power. With a mere flick of his fingers, he seized the war machines arm mid-motion, the colossal limb halting as though gripped by an invisible vice. Then, with the inexorable might of his mind, he ripped it clean from the Knights frame. Metal sheared, circuits snapped, and the detached limb crashed to the ground with a deafening boom. The Knight shuddered violently, its gyroscopic stabilizers failing to compensate for its imbalance. But before it could collapse entirely, Qin Mo reached out once morethis time manipulating the very alloys that comprised its skeletal structure. Metallic sinews twisted under his will, joints locking in place as if an unseen god had commanded them to freeze. The war machine was now utterly immobile, bound not by chains, but by sheer dominance. Qin Mo ascended the wreckage, scaling the shattered torso as if it were little more than a ruined edifice. The cockpit, nestled within the Knights crushed helm, was barely intact. Wires sparked and coolant dripped from ruptured conduits, the once-sterile interior now resembling a grotesque execution chamber. Inside, slumped against his harness, was the pilot. Impaled. A jagged shard of metal had pierced through the pilots abdomen, its edges slick with crimson. His breaths were labored, each one rattling like the final exhalations of a dying predator. "Kill me" the man gasped, his voice little more than a whisper. "Let me die with it" Qin Mo ignored the plea. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he examined the pilots armor. A flight suit reinforced with ceramite plating, predominantly cobalt-blue, its pauldrons adorned with the insignia of a stylized avian. Feathers, real and artificial, decorated his helm and limbs, marking him unmistakably as a Scion of the Order of the Omniscient Mind. So, it was as he had suspected. The Knight House had fallen to corruption. Even now, he could sense the taint in the machine spirittwisted, defiled, and writhing in blind rage. The vast majority of Imperial Knights shared an intimate bond with their war machines, their souls intertwining with the machine spirit through their Throne Mechanicum. Some Knights, especially those touched by ruinous powers, left behind machine spirits so polluted that they could continue fighting even after the pilots death. Given enough time, some machines even learned to hate. Qin Mo''s voice was calm but unyielding. "Talon II is a Forge World, isnt it? Is your House based there? How many Knights do you still have?" The pilot, Aelann, used the last of his strength to spit at Qin Mos feeta pathetic display of defiance. Unmoved, Qin Mo raised his hand. A deep metallic groan echoed across the battlefield as the Knights frame bent inward, warped by unseen pressure. What was left of its internal scaffolding began to twist and compress, inch by inch, as the machine spirit screamed its final, wordless denial. Aelanns resolve shattered instantly. "Fi-five Knights!" he gasped, eyes wide in terror. "Please don''tdont torture us just make it quick!" "I can grant you that. But first, one more answer," Qin Mo said coldly. "How long before the rest of your House arrives?" "They wont." Aelanns breath was ragged. "They will never come I was the only one in my family who followed the Lord of Wisdom" The Lord of Wisdom. A treasonous whisper. A name best left unspoken. Qin Mo had heard enough. Without another word, he turned and exited the wreckage, raising his hand toward the sky. Lightning split the heavens. A single, wrathful bolt lanced downward, striking the ruined Knight dead center. White-hot energy consumed machine and man alike, vaporizing them both in an instant. When the crackling storm dissipated, only molten slag remaineda fitting grave for a traitor. .... Emerging from the ruins, Qin Mo turned his attention back to the battlefield, preparing to unleash havoc among the enemy ranks. However, a transmission from Klein made him redirect his focus. "The enemy is collapsing on all fronts." "Initiate teleportation in one minute," Qin Mo ordered, immediately returning to the Underhive fortress to power the teleportation arrays. Unlike conventional forces, the First Legion did not need to march to victorythey simply willed themselves into position. The battle had already reached its conclusion. The Knight had fallen. The enemys fragile morale had shattered. What remained was nothing more than scattered prey, running blindly in the hopes of finding an escape that no longer existed. Across the battlefield, panic consumed the traitors. No longer an armyno longer squads or battalionsonly terrified individuals, each driven by the same, primal instinct: flight. Sar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But there was no escape. The First Legions regiments materialized ahead of the retreating forces, blocking their path with overwhelming firepower. There was no battle nowonly execution. .... Within the command chamber, Ursarkar E. Creed watched in silence. His fingers tapped against the console, his mind racing even as his face betrayed nothing. Mass-scale teleportation. An utterly absurd capability. Destroying an army outright was never easy. A true annihilation battle required extensive preparationstrategic positioning, logistical support, contingency plans, an abundance of transport ships, and a secure supply chain for the engaged forces. Warfare, as Creed knew it, required strategy. Logistics. Air superiority. Secure supply lines. Yet these warriors needed none of it. Out of ammunition? Teleport to resupply. Surrounded? Teleport out of the encirclement. Enemy retreating? Teleport ahead and cut them down. Even though some enemy forces still managed to flee, Creed knew: total annihilation was inevitable. Mass teleportation alone was enough. And that was before factoring in their soldiers clad in powered armor. Creed turned to Klein. "Who developed this technology? Who manufactures your weapons? You wouldnt happen to have a Forge World supplying you, would you?" Klein smirked. "A Forge World? In Talon I? You think someone just swooped in to help us? Look around, Creedour world is in ruins. Our war has been fought in utter isolation. Youre the first off-world visitors in millennia and there arent many of you left either." Creed let Klein ramble. It was a habit of his. Yet buried within the noise was something truly troubling. Klein had no intention of answering his question. "Enough." Creed raised a hand, cutting him off. He lowered his gaze, refocusing on the battle. Considering the sheer mystery surrounding their weaponry and technology, Creed had no choice but to contemplate the worst-case scenario A headache began to form at Creeds temples. He exhaled slowly, returning his gaze to the hololithic display. If the High Lords of Terra ever learned of this if they declared Talon a heretical anomaly if they dispatched the Astra Militarum to annihilate them How would this war unfold? Against the Imperial Guard, Qin Mos forces would be vastly outmatched in manpower. Even without factoring in elite regiments like the Cadian Shock Troopers, the standard Guardsmen would outclass Qin Mos forces in training and discipline. After extensive deliberation, Creed realized there was no easy answer. It would become a war of attrition. They would dispatch the Astra Militarum, the Adeptus Astartes, the Mechanicus Skitarii Legions, Knight Houses, even Titans... Each escalation would drag Talon deeper into oblivion. It would be a war of extinction. Yet, despite his grim calculations, Creed found himself reluctant to see such a day arrive. These were not heretics born of ambition or greed. These were survivors, humans pushed past their limits, clinging to something greater than despair. He knew what these soldiers had enduredthey had been betrayed by their governor, sent to die in a hopeless war, and yet they survived. And now, they fought against the Heretics of an entire star system. "I must warn you." Creed addressed Klein once more. "Your use of unregulated technology and weaponry you know what that entails." Klein met his gaze, and for once, his expression was serious. "We know," he said simply. "But the Talon I belongs to its true masters now. And from this day forward, it will thrive." Creed narrowed his eyes. "The true master of Talon the Emperor? Or your Lord Commander?" Klein laughed. "The Emperor, of course. But tell me, Creed did you have a different answer in mind?" Creed scoffed, rolling his eyes, and returned his focus to the ongoing battle. He ended the conversation. Chapter 75: The Oath As Creed subtly probed Klein, the battle had already reached its inevitable conclusion. The enemy forces had been shattered, their remnants hunted down through the twisted, rusted arteries of the Hive City. By nightfall, the war was over. Creed left the command post, stepping away from the hololithic displays and the weight of responsibility. He returned to his comrades, who, as was their tradition, had gathered in their barracks for post-battle conversation. The moment he entered, all eyes turned to him. Did you spend the day playing staff officer again? one of his superiors asked, arms folded. Creed instinctively answered honestly. Yes. A long pause. Then I know you see them as good people and want to help, the officer said, his tone measured but firm. But let me remind you, these people are far more suspicious than the enemy. Arent you even a little curious where their technology comes from? Creed held his tongue, saying nothing, though the urge to argue burned in his chest. Dont pull that stunt again, the officer warned, voice dropping to a low, steely whisper. This is your final warning. We can repay them for repairing our ships, but dont overstep your bounds. Creed nodded solemnly. Understood. Just as the conversation ended, the door creaked open. A local Underhive soldier stood at the entrance, offering an Aquila salute. You all fought in the battle. The Lord Commander invites you to the memorial service for the fallen. Afterward, there will be a banquet and a screening of 44th Regiment: Last Stand. Thanks, but well pass. The officer declined immediately. The soldier, betraying no emotion, nodded and left. Creed frowned, his brow knitting. Wait why are we being considered combatants? Just because I played staff officer? One of his officers hesitated before responding, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "While you were tied up at command," he began, sheepish, "A tunnel in District 13 was breached by the enemy. So we well, you know... stepped in. "Stepped in? A fresh-faced White Shield trooper grinned, his eyes gleaming with the reckless pride of youth. We held off an entire enemy assault force in those tunnels. A single company repelled two enemy regiments! he declared proudly. Creed was taken aback. I had no idea. Of course you didnt, one of his comrades chuckled, leaning back against a stacked crate of lasgun charge packs. The battle in District 13 was coordinated directly by the local regimental commanders. Their command structure works differently from ourseach regiment handles a wide range of responsibilities on its own. You even understand their command structure? Creed asked, genuinely surprised. I have to analyze every bit of combat intelligence I can. The soldier smirked. Besides I wanted to negotiate a good deal on their power armor. Creed sighed. Alright, alright. He smiled and chose not to press further. Their laughter soon filled the room, bouncing off the cold metal walls, a rare moment of levity amidst a life of endless war. For the Cadian Shock Troopers, their time in Tyrone Hive was practically a vacation. Even facing two enemy regiments in the tunnels felt more like sport. Their spirits were high, unburdened by the grim weight that usually followed battle. They were Cadians. This was what they were made for. .... Creed lay in his cot, drenched in cold sweat, his muscles twitching, his breath ragged. The darkness pressed heavy against him, thick with the phantom scent of ozone and burning flesh. Though asleep, he was at war. Drop pods streaked across the sky, painting fiery scars through the atmosphere. Artillery thundered across the planet, the distant thunder of Titan cannons shaking the earth. The war grew ever more desperate. Reports of disaster flooded in one after another. Creed saw himself striding along the blood-soaked trenches, rallying his men, his voice hoarse from countless orders. Every Cadian fought like a daemon, but it was not enough. The tide was irreversible. And then A massive, ominous black object descended upon the land. Cadia. Burning. Breaking. Dying. Creed woke with a jolt, the cot rattling under him. He gasped for breath, fists clenching the blanket as though trying to hold onto something slipping away. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He was a Cadian, born and bred in the system closest to the Eye of Terror. Every time the forces of Chaos launched a Black Crusade, Cadia stood as the Imperiums first line of defense. As a Cadian, he feared nothing. Cadia fears no foe and neither did Creed. Yet, like many of his kin, he had dreamt more than once of Cadias fall. And every time he awoke to find Cadia still standing, he did as any true Cadian would. He raised his middle finger toward the Eye of Terror. He couldnt see the sky from the Underhive of Tyrone. And this wasnt Cadia. But still, Creed raised his middle finger toward the ceiling. "Cadia stands," he muttered fiercely. But sleep refused to return. So he stepped outside, onto the fortress rooftop, lighting a Lho-Stick with a flint-spark and leaned against the railing. .... Before long, another figure joined him. Creed turnedit was Qin Mo, his expression unreadable in the half-light. Without speaking, Qin Mo moved to the railing, his eyes fixed on the streets below. A procession was underway. The orbital shipyard had been completed. Now, the ashes of the fallen were being escorted toward the shipyard, carried by a silent column of soldiers and civilians. If there was anywhere better to observe the ceremony, it would be atop the towering hive spires, home to tens of thousands. Theres someone I knew in there. Qin Mo said, watching the large containers of cremated remains. A regimental commander who idolized me... he died in this war. He died because of my mistake. Creed exhaled a cloud of smoke, the ember at the end of his Lho-Stick burning brightly for a moment. May his soul rest upon the Golden Throne. Creed said solemnly. Qin Mo said nothing. His gaze remained locked on the slow, mournful march of the dead. Creed, meanwhile, reflected. He had learned much about the man beside him. He knew what Qin Mo had endured. He was one of the 44th Regiments last survivors. He had fought tirelessly, shoring up collapsing defenses, turning the tide of battle again and again. It was no surprise that soldiers saw him as a savior. But Qin Mo was no tyrant. Unlike many Hive Lords, he did not hoard resources while his people starved. His "servitors" patrolled the streets, but the people lived well. Every household had clean water, fresh food, and decent housing. A standard of living unheard of in most Hive Cities. With the shipyard complete, youll be able to leave soon, Qin Mo said, breaking the silence. "As a reward for your fight in District 13, Ill issue power armor to each of you. Creed nodded slowly. And in return, I will help you establish an officer training system, and develop tactics suited to your forces. Ill do everything I can. Qin Mo turned to him and asked, his voice almost hesitant. Youre not afraid Im a heretic? Creed shook his head. He knew Qin Mo was not a heretic. Even if his technology was questionable. Then, a thought struck Creed. From the moment he arrived in Tyrone Hive, he had instinctively wanted to come to the Underhive. He was not a man who trusted easily. Yet somehow, he had always trusted the people down here. Qin Mo spoke again. I lack experience training armies. And I have no idea how to cultivate military leaders. Youve helped me greatly. Then, he turned to Creed, facing him fully. I owe you a favor. Name it. Creed almost dismissed it. Repairing their ship would have been enough, but he hesitated, thinking of something deeper. Facing Qin Mos calm gaze, Creed asked. What do you intend to make of the Talon System? A fortress system, Qin Mo replied immediately. Safe and strong. Every citizen ready for war. Every district orderly, even the deepest Underhives. Creed nodded thoughtfully, then asked. Will you fight for the Emperor? I will fight for mankind, Qin Mo answered. Creed stiffened at first, the indoctrination of countless sermons bristling inside him, but then he nodded slowly. Mankind was the Emperors charge. Maybe it was enough. Both fell silent, watching as the procession carrying the ashes disappeared into the distance. Finally, Creed spoke. I dont want material rewards. I only ask for one promise. Name it, Qin Mo said. Creed locked eyes with him, voice grave. You will command a powerful army and fleet one day. My request is this, should Cadia ever face its darkest hour will you aid us? To Qin Mo, this request was redundant. He knew that one day, Abaddon the Despoiler would launch the Thirteenth Black Crusade. He would never sit idly by and allow Cadia, a world with Blackstone Pylons that suppressed the Warp, to fall. Regardless of whether the future Lord Castellan Creed sought aid, aid would come. Because Qin Mo despised the Warp. Without hesitation, Qin Mo answered. "When the time comes, you need only send one message, and aid will come." Creed narrowed his eyes. "And what would that message be?" Qin Mos voice was unwavering. "Cadia calls for aid." "And Talon will answer." Creed nodded firmly. For the first time, he felt a sense of fate, as though he was meant to come to the Talon Sector. As though the Emperor Himself had guided his path here, amid the ruins of one world, to forge the salvation of another. But before he could press for answers, Qin Mo turned and disappeared into the shadows of the fortress. Chapter 76: The Shipbuilding Plan By dawn, the orbital shipyard was fully operational. Its dark metallic hull, a monolithic giant, loomed in the depths of the Underhive, awaiting its final activation sequence. Within its vast chambers, the remains of the fallen warriors were already stored, their ashes carefully sealed in stasis urns, prepared for interment among the stars. It was now ready to be teleported into low planetary orbit, its dimensional engine primed for activation. All defensive weapon systems and shields were already online, calibrated and synchronized, prepared to repel any enemy ships upon arrival. In the depths of the fortress caverns of the Underhive, Qin Mo stood before the teleportation array, his power flowing into the control systems. The Master AI, its logic-engine whirring with artificial thought, processed trillions of calculations analyzing gravitational drift, orbital tides, and potential enemy scan grids before selecting the optimal insertion point. Beside him stood Creed, arms folded across his chest. The man who, just the night before, had forged a crucial pact with him. His expression remained unreadable. Is it true that on Cadia, if you look up, you can always see the Eye of Terror? Qin Mo asked, almost absent-mindedly. Creed exhaled. Yes. He hesitated, then continued. And not just the Eye itself. There are things. Screaming colors. Twisted geometries. Horrific patterns. Shapes that burn into your mind. Stare too long, and you start bleeding from your eyes, ears, nose all of it. Qin Mo frowned. If I had to see that Warp Rift every day Id lose my mind. I hate the Warp. Creed chuckled darkly. Hive Cities exist on Cadia too, you know. Not everyone gets the chance to stare at the sky. Their conversation drifted into silence as they turned their attention to the teleportation platform. Before them stood a colossal cubic construct, a machine far beyond anything Creed had ever encountered. Its form was an enigma. Its purpose, clear only to Qin Mo. Its construction? A mystery even to him. Creed had tried to study it before. Tried to understand its internal systems. And yet, like so much of Tyrone Hives technology, it defied explanation. There was nothing to grasp, no schematic, no access panel, no interface that obeyed known physics. It might as well have been grown, not built. .... Its done. Qin Mo stepped forward, his fingers dancing across a panel-mounted interface. Have your shipmaster bring the vessel into the shipyard, he said calmly. Creed blinked. Thats it? As far as he could tell, Qin Mo had been casually chatting and now, suddenly, the shipyard was ready, operational, and waiting. A display screen flickered to life, showing a live feed from the shipyards external monitors. A massive black sphere, unnaturally smooth and devoid of any seams, now drifted in orbit above the planet, a void among stars. The feed originated from surveillance drones deployed around the shipyard, scouts designed to monitor enemy fleet movements and assist in strategic repositioning or automated defense protocols. Creed activated his vox-link. Bring the ship in. The shipyard is right in front of you. You should be able to see it. Its hard to miss. Far above, in the void, a merchant vessel adjusted course. Sarch* The N??elFir.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Compared to the shipyard, it was insignificant, a serpent slipping into a cavernous lair. Qin Mo switched the feed to internal visuals. Inside, the vessel was visibly dwarfed by sprawling, cathedral-like structures. Vaulted ceilings loomed above like the ribs of some ancient god, their spire-like frames pulsing with an eerie, green-tinged radiance. As the ship passed through the entry port, beams of light lanced out, scanning its hullprobing for damage, radiation residue, and structural weaknesses. Creed watched in silence. At least the damage is mostly external, Qin Mo remarked. Creed observed as black metallic formations began to weave themselves into existence, seamlessly repairing the ships wounded hull with an almost organic precision. The material slithered across torn plating like liquid armor, sealing breaches in seconds. His mind reeled. Thats not adamantium, is it? Will it hold? Qin Mo shook his head. An alloy. Lighter, self-healing, and more responsive under stress. It has its strengths and weaknesses compared to adamantium. But for repairs? More than sufficient. Creed said nothing. He observed the automated repair process, feeling as though his entire worldview was being rewritten. The ship will be ready shortly, Qin Mo said. You and your men should teleport aboard and depart before the enemy detects the shipyard. Creed nodded slowly. He reached into his coat and retrieved a thick stack of dataslates and hand-written pages, bound with rough fiber cord. Time was short. I could only draft a preliminary plan, but I promise if you follow these instructions you will forge an army on par with the Astra Militarum." Qin Mo took the bundle, flipping through a few pages. It wasnt just a training manual. It was an entire strategic doctrine. Creed had poured his soul into this plan. The doctrine outlined the formation of shock units tailored for teleportation assaults. It included strategies for integrating Tyrone Hives technology with conventional tactics, suggesting even repurposing waste-processing drones for field logistics. A roadmap laid out the cultivation of military leadership over the long term, down to criteria for selecting sergeants from civilian ranks. It might as well have been titled: Qin Mo nodded. His expression softened, just slightly. Much appreciated. Creed merely smiled, stepping onto a teleportation marker etched with glowing sigils. He didnt look back. With a command gesture, Qin Mo activated the teleportation field.. In an instant, Creed and his battle-brothers vanished, reappearing aboard the now-repaired merchant vessel. Through the display, Qin Mo watched as the now-restored ship maneuvered toward the shipyards exit. At a safe distance at the Mandeville Point of the Talon system, the vessels prow shuddered, opening a gaping wound in reality, a passage into the Immaterium. And then They were gone. Qin Mo sighed. He knew their journey would not be smooth. Warp travel was never without risk. But that was no longer his concern. .... Initiate the Shipbuilding Plan, Qin Mo ordered. The Master AIs core pulsed in response, its synthetic heart glowing with synchronized energy surges, streams of data cascading across the holo-displays like rivers of light. ["Order acknowledged. Recording in progress."] "One cruiser. Two frigates." ["Acknowledged. Estimated completion time: five months with current resource allocation."] He gave a curt nod. Begin selecting potential crew candidates immediately. ["Initiating aptitude assessments. Optimal personnel will be identified based on psychological stability, technical proficiency, and combat readiness."] Qin Mo folded his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. He had no idea how the Master AI would conduct its selection process, its parameters were alien in scope, derived from his dimensional technology and refined through endless simulations. But he trusted the outcome. It understood every aspect of warship construction. It would know who was best suited to command and crew them. "Assign personnel to alloy production. Dispatch drones to construct industrial foundries for metallurgy, prioritize neutron-forged steel and void-tolerant composites. ["Acknowledged. Deploying fabrication units and initializing foundry schematics."] The cavern fell silent once more, save for the distant thrum of power cores spinning up. Qin Mos mind turned to the future, the weight of time pressing against him like the voids own gravity. From Creeds information, he estimated the current year to be roughly M41.989. The tail end of the 41st Millennium by the Imperial calendar, a time when each year was stamped with the dread of encroaching cataclysms. That meant only one thing. In a decade, Ursarkar E. Creed would become Lord Castellan of Cadia. And more critically, Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos, wielder of the daemon sword Drachnyen, would unleash the Thirteenth Black Crusade. Ten years until Cadias final stand. The opening salvo of the Great Rift. If Qin Mo wished to prevent its fall If he wanted to rewrite the future... He had ten years. Ten years to unite the Talon Sector. Ten years to forge a navy worthy of the void. Ten years to assemble an army strong enough to challenge the Despoiler. The campaign to consolidate the sector was inevitable. But Qin Mo had no intention of fighting a war of attrition. Instead he was devising a superweapon. A weapon based on dimensional technology. Once Talon II fell under his control, he would unlock his research potential. And then He would obliterate his remaining enemies on Talon III in one decisive stroke. There would be no survivors. No resistance. It didnt matter what False Gods they worshipped. It didnt matter what banners they flew or what dogmas they screamed. They would be erased. By a weapon even the Star Gods would fear. Chapter 77: The True Thunderborns Meanwhile Venomfang sat upon the throne of the Tyrone Hive Governor, as he always did, overseeing military affairs. His presence was a mockery of Imperial rule, a usurper wrapped in stolen authority, his twisted ambitions festering within the decrepit walls of the once-glorious command spire. Before him stood his attendant, a gaunt, hollow-eyed man dressed in ceremonial robes tainted with heretical sigils, delivering the latest reports with an air of practiced subservience. "The Governor is furious with you, the attendant murmured. Not only have you lost two major battles, but you also allowed the Errant-class Knight and Sir Lannis Aelann to be killed." Venomfang said nothing, but his clawed fingers tapped against the armrest of his stolen throne. "Lannis Aelann," the attendant continued, "was the only one in his bloodline devoted to the Lord of Wisdom. The Governor needed him for the campaign on Talon III. In a few weeks, the Governor will dispatch warships to transport reinforcements, bringing your forces up to seven hundred thousand. But after that, youll receive no further support." Venomfangs eyes flickered. "Wait why is the Governor preparing for war on Talon III?" The attendant sighed. When the nobility fled, some defected and sought refuge on Talon III. It seems the Governor was unaware that many of his so-called allies and even enemies, had longstanding dealings with Talon III. And now? Venomfangs voice was sharp. Now, Talon III has fallen to the Pleasure Lords. At that name, Venomfangs memory stirred. Talon III had once been home to a minor, irrelevant cult known as the Pleasure Lordsat least, a century ago, thats what they were. A hedonistic rabble, more concerned with narcotics and decadent rites than any true power. Unfocused. Weak. But somehow, they had grown powerful enough to seize an entire world. Until today, Venomfang had assumed Talon III was still mostly under Imperial governance. "Alright." Venomfang turned to his attendant. "Go back to the Governor and negotiate. I dont need reinforcements, just have his warships bombard the Hive City from orbit. Will he agree to that? The attendant chuckled darkly. "Hell say: In your dreams, you worthless failure. Venomfangs eyes narrowed. A faint crackle of static hissed from beneath his collar. Say that again, and Ill have your hide. The attendant wisely fell silent. Venomfang leaned back, folding his arms. At one time, he had believed the First Legion could be eradicated quickly. But their teleportation technology was... insufferable. Even after all his Lords gifts, he would need at least a decade to unravel its mysteries. Just yesterday, a report from the District 13 assault had crossed his desk. Some of his troops claimed to have seen Cadian Shock Troopers fighting alongside the enemy. Venomfang had dismissed it as misinformation. Or deception. Cadians didnt come to ghost sectors like this. The Lord of Wisdom had flourished in the Talon Sector for a reason, this was a backwater region. There was no way Cadians were here. And yet Something gnawed at him. "I dont understand," Venomfang muttered. "Why havent they launched an all-out attack? Do they not care about the upper hive civilians were using as ritual fodder?" His attendant grinned. The expression was joyless, skin stretched over sharp cheekbones like a death mask. "Maybe theyre focused on something else, like expanding their army." Venomfang exhaled. "Probably." Then, after a pause, the attendant hesitated. What if we lose? Venomfang didnt flinch. "Then it doesnt matter. It wont affect our true plan." The attendant pondered this before nodding. "As we have foreseen, you will receive the Lord of Wisdoms favor and ascend as the greatest psyker in the sector." Venomfangs muscles tensed. Glancing around, he gestured for silence. "Dont say that aloud." His voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of unseen power. "My men must remain useful until they, too, are bled dry for my apotheosis." .... Qin Mo had yet to launch his offensive. Instead He prepared for the decisive war. All infantry received upgraded weaponry. Lasguns were modified for higher power output and increased rate of fire. Each was now capable of punching through ceramite at close range. Standard Praetorian Pattern Power armor had been reinforced with superior defensive plating. Layers of plasteel and reactive gel formed a carapace more akin to light tank armor. Leman Russ tanks were retrofitted with anti-grav propulsion, replacing their traditional tracks with hover chassis. The war machines now glided above the ground, silent as wraiths, no longer bound by terrain. Turrets were fitted with advanced missile pods, amplifying their firepower to devastating levels. And then There were the Thunderborns. Qin Mos five personal bodyguards were upgraded. Not their armor. Their bodies. .... They were no longer merely elite warriors. They were something else entirely. They had transcended humanity itself. Their bodies had been reforged in a crucible of science and steel, each modification transforming them from soldiers into post-human weapons of unprecedented lethality. 1. Genetic Augmentation Their genetic code had been rewritten at the molecular level. They possessed a denser bone structure, reinforced with reactive ceramic plating, a smart material that hardened instantly under impact, capable of withstanding the force of anti-tank rounds that would obliterate ordinary superhuman soldiers. Their musculature was stronger, layered and enhanced with synthetic myofibers, increasing raw strength beyond Astartes levels. Neurological fortification, rendering them resistant to shock and trauma, protecting their brains from concussive force and psionic assault alike. These enhancements ensured that even without the aid of their power armor, they could wear it effortlessly and fight with full mobility, as if it were a second skin. sea??h th N?vel(F)ire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. 2. Cognitive Enhancements Neural implants were embedded in their brains, allowing them to control their armor and weapons through thought alone. Bio-processors enhanced situational awareness and enabled split-brain rest, a function that let one hemisphere of the brain sleep while the other remained alert, meaning that even during battle, half their mind could recuperate while the other half continued fighting. In theory, they could now fight indefinitely without rest or sleep. 3. Biomechanical Reinforcement Their throat and jawbones replaced with reinforced metal structures, rendering them impervious to decapitation. Inside their bodies, self-contained nanite reservoirs stood ready to deploy repair swarms when wounded, knitting flesh and steel alike. These microscopic machines could mend ruptured arteries and shattered armor alike in moments, transforming mortal wounds into mere inconveniences. Their eyes had been replaced with cybernetic optics, linked to a battlefield database capable of instant facial recognition, thermal imaging, auto-targeting, and predictive tracking. They could see through walls, track a targets heartbeat, and anticipate an enemys next move before it happened. 4. Cybernetic Limbs & Power Core Their limbs and spine had not been spared. A reinforced metallic skeletal framework allowed them to withstand impacts strong enough to destroy light vehicles. Three internal fusion reactors pulsed within each of them, ensuring a constant, renewable power source. As long as one reactor remained intact, a Thunderborn could not die. Servo-assisted joints compensated for their increased mass, allowing full-speed mobility even without armor. 5. Spinal Reinforcement Their original spinal columns had been replaced entirely. With their new structure, they could shoulder the weight of a battle tank. Their nervous systems had been rewired and accelerated, granting them lightning reflexes and preternatural reaction times. And then came the true masterpiece. 6. Hyper-Perception Mode When activated Their reaction speed accelerated to the edge of possibility. Time itself seemed to slow; motion became sluggish; blades and bullets could be followed by eye. Even the fastest Aeldari warriors, renowned for their supernatural agility and speed, appeared clumsy and delayed. But the ability had limits. It could only last for ten seconds. A second activation within an hour caused severe neural degradationsizzling synapses, microbleeds, and potentially irreversible damage. Despite their extensive modifications, they did not appear grotesque. A layer of synth-skin, grown in nutrient vats, covered their cybernetic enhancements, allowing them to retain a human appearance. But beneath that skin, they were far beyond human. They were not mutants. They were not abominations of the Warp. These enhancements were purely technological. There was no sorcery involved. No risk of mutation or corruption. And one day, when Qin Mos anti-Warp countermeasures were complete. The Thunderborns would become immune to the taint of Chaos itself. Though they still bore the title Thunderborns, the warriors who now stood at Qin Mos side were far beyond what they had once been, each of them a hundredfold improvement over their former selves, both in might and mind. And when the final war came. They would be unstoppable. Chapter 78: Terror in the Chapel Grey was the last of the Thunderborns to undergo the augmentation process. Now, he lay on the operating table, his mind sharper than ever, yet his body still trembled from the harrowing ordeal. Each nerve-ending felt raw, recently rewired for heightened reflexes, while echoes of pain still clung to his bones like frost. His thoughts flickered with fragmented memories of the screaming, the white-hot agony, the moments when he wasn''t sure if he''d wake up at all. The enhancements had pushed him beyond human limits, but the process had nearly shattered his sanity. Qin Mo had gone further than before. His cybernetic arm had been reinforced, its armor plating thicker, its structure reworked to withstand direct anti-armor impacts. But this was no mere mechanical limb. It could now channel psychic force, amplifying raw energy through warp-resistant conduits, allowing Qin Mo to focus power through a stable medium for reality-warping abilities similar to Yoans pendant. Grey lay motionless, staring at the metallic ceiling, his breathing slow. The lights above buzzed faintly, a rhythmic counterpoint to the silence within his own mind. The room smelled of ozone and cauterized flesh. His blood still marked the table beneath him, but his thoughts were clearer than they''d ever been. Am I still human? Grey suddenly asked. Of course, Qin Mo replied. Your soul and brain remain intact. Some of your biological systems have even been preserved. You can still reproduce, theoretically, for example. Grey cracked a grin. Might as well replace that part with a cannon then. That way, even out of power armor, Id still have a weapon of mass destruction. Qin Mo paused, momentarily caught off guard. He was genuinely surprised. Despite everything Grey had endured, he still had the willpower to joke. Instead of responding with banter, Qin Mo got back to business. The war isnt over. He turned toward the terminal, activating a holographic display. Just as I developed dimensional technology, I will now enter seclusion in New Kato Fortress to fully focus on researching a weapon that will end this war. In the meantime, Ill hand over strategic command to you. Grey sat up fully, his gaze hardening. The ache in his joints was still there, but it was distant now, irrelevant. His body obeyed him like a well-tuned engine. You and the others will infiltrate the Upper Hive. Your job is intel gathering. Anruida will locate suitable coordinates for large-scale teleportation. The rest of the Thunderborns will sabotage enemy munitions depots and other critical infrastructure, Qin Mos voice was calm, measured, as if he were already thinking ten moves ahead. After that, we teleport in our forces, seize the Upper Hive, and consolidate our position before moving on the Spire. With Creed gone, Qin Mo was the only true strategist left. Grey had once just been a rank-and-file PDF soldier. Klein, though military-trained, knew how to command a regiment, but nothing more. The remaining officers? Inexperienced. Unseasoned. Not yet ready for the scale of command needed. Sarch* The ovlFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. That meant Grey had to execute orders precisely, without fail. Any additional directives? Grey asked after the briefing. "None," Qin Mo replied. "Adapt as needed. If the enemy discovers the orbital shipyard, Ill personally teleport aboard to defend it. Grey nodded. Your mind is sharper now, Qin Mo added. Use it. Learn. We wont stop at just an army and fleet. Youll need to become more than a soldier. You must learn to be a commander, to lead. Understood. When your research is complete, youll have a Hive City that belongs to you Governor, Grey said, taking a deep breath. Dont rush it. Even if the Spire takes time to fall, once the warships are built this world will be mine, Qin Mo said as he sealed the casing on Greys augmetic limb. He gestured for Grey to stand. Grey rose from the table, feeling lighter, faster, stronger. No, more than stronger. Transformed. Every motion felt precise, deliberate. The world around him seemed slower, as if waiting for his command. He clenched his reinforced fist. I feel different. My senses are sharper. Thats not all. Qin Mo turned and approached a nearby device, extracting a freshly-fabricated drone. Grey noticed a teleport beacon embedded beneath the drones chassis. It was, essentially, a mobile teleportation relay. Take it. Youll need it, Qin Mo handed it to him. Yes, sir. Grey accepted the drone, saluted, and exited the blood-slicked surgical vault. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing away the last fragments of who he used to be. Outside, the other Thunderborns were already fully armored, awaiting orders. Grey relayed Qin Mos orders, and without hesitation, they silently dispersed to prepare for teleportation. .... Grey did not wear his power armor for this reconnaissance mission. Clad only in a black robe, he was teleported into the Upper Hive, the dimensional corridor dissolved as he materialized. His vision adjusted instantly. Grey scanned the entire area in under a second. The Upper Hive, pristine, majestic, and almost alien in its grandeur. A place reserved for the Imperium''s elite, where even the air was filtered twice and perfumed with alchemical precision. It was beautiful, ornate Imperial architecture in every direction. Gleaming golden statues stood like sentinels beside towering cathedrals and spire-crowned mansions. Brightly lit. Towering buildings. Marble archways and gold-leafed balconies cast long shadows over the polished streets. Everything here screamed opulence. This was where nobles schemed over wine older than most Hive-born lives, where power came by birthright, not earned merit. He had heard that the elites of the Upper Hive lived in massive personal estates. But now? The streets were eerily silent. The once-bustling avenues were empty. There were no servitors sweeping the walkways, no noble entourages being paraded under gold-trimmed banners. The scent of ash tainted the air. In the distance, fires burned, and enemy patrols moved in strict formations. Weve made it to the Upper Hive, Anruidas voice echoed in Greys mind. He no longer needed Vox-casters, his bio-processor allowed direct mental communication. We each have our tasks. If anyone encounters resistance, call for support. Grey replied. Anruida chuckled. Shame Grot isnt here. Hed be perfect for sabotage and demolition ops. No doubt. Grey was about to continue speaking Then his new instincts screamed. Danger. Enemy patrols. Closing in. They approached from both ends of the street. Seconds to act. His gaze locked onto a chapel ahead at the end of the boulevard. Through his enhanced optics, he saw through the walls, marking everyone inside and their movements. Inside, were officers strategizing, discussing Upper Hive defenses. Above them, a bell tower, an ideal vantage point. In less than a second, he had formed his plan and activated his spinal augmentations. Time dilated. The world slowed to a crawl. Grey burst into motion, sprinting through the gap between enemy patrols before their minds registered his existence. To them, he was just a fleeting shadow, an unrecognizable blur of motion and silence. By the time one of them thought he saw something, Grey had already leapt through an open window And into the chapel. .... Inside, officers sat around a war table, hunched over maps and vox-feeds. Greys vision overlay marked them all in red. His cybernetic arm shifted The outer casing separated, revealing an integrated firearm. High-velocity micro-rounds hissed out silently, one for each marked target. Each round pierced skulls and fragmented, instantly liquefying cerebral tissue. Brain matter splattered against the stone walls in perfect silence. Grey turned. More targets downstairs. His enhanced optics calculated trajectories in real time. He fired again. To his accelerated perception, he could see the bullets travel, even calculate their trajectories with perfect clarity. Within seconds, the floor was cleared. The effect ended. Time returned to normal. Bodies collapsed, their deaths instantaneous, the sound of flesh hitting the floor echoed through the chapel. One officer remained. Frozen in horror. The lone surviving officer stood frozen for a second, until his brain caught up Then he opened his mouth trying to shout toward the window. Grey moved instantly. Two meters separated them. He closed the distance in an instant. His hand clamped around the officers throat. With a single motion, he lifted and slammed the man into the cold stone floor, silencing him. Outside, the enemy patrols continued their rounds. For now, they had not noticed the massacre inside. Grey exhaled. The mission had only just begun. Chapter 79: Preparations for the Full-Scale Assault Greys augmented, expressionless gaze locked onto the captured officer. His cybernetic optics processed the mans biometric readingsblood pressure, heart rate, pupil dilationcalculating probabilities, filtering truth from deception with ruthless efficiency. A status prompt blinked across his vision: [Processing required conditions] He had questions. The officer had answers. I ask. You answer. The prisoner swallowed hard, fear seeping into his expression. Who is in command of your forces? Your Marshal? "Y-yes! His name is Venomfang. Hes a psyker!" The officer responded hastily. Greys enhanced vision adjusted. The processing prompt changed: [Truth.] His cybernetic optics now functioned as an integrated lie detector. If this man had a neural link, Grey could have ripped the data directly from his mind, tearing information from him like pages from a book. "Where is Venomfang?" Grey pressed A decapitation strike could cripple the enemy war effort. The officer hesitated. Sometimes I see him in the command camp sometimes on the battlefield but I never know his exact location. [Truth.] Grey exhaled, unimpressed. Without a word, his cybernetic arm tightened into a fist. The officers skull collapsed inward, crushed by an invisible telekinetic force. The last enemy in the first floor was dead. Grey scanned the room. A holographic prompt appeared in his vision: [Unprocessed scene detected. Risk of discovery: HIGH.] [Suggested Cleanup Methods: Dispose of bodies in side chambers. Remove fingerprints and biological residue.] Visual overlays marked corridors for dumping bodies and highlighted blood-spatter hotspots. Grey ignored them. The other Thunderborns were already operational in the Upper Hive. Once the first military facility was destroyed, the enemy would be thrown into chaos, making cleanups pointless. "Has anyone noticed?" Anruidas voice echoed in Greys mind. "There are no civilians in the Upper Hive." Grey narrowed his eyes. Same here, Grey replied as he turned toward the second floor. His thermal imaging mode activated, marking every enemy position. Their movements, breathing patterns, heartbeats, all were visible through the walls. Grey raised his hand, manipulating the blades of the fallen. The melee weapons lifted from corpse-littered floors, floating silently into the air. Then They hovered with perfect precision beneath the ceiling, directly aligned under the marked targets. "I found a notice," another voice chimed. "It says the ''rebels'' are massacring the Lower Hive. All Upper Hive citizens have been evacuated to the Spire for transport off-world." Greys eyes narrowed. "Rebels? Those bastards." His voice was cold. The Lower Hive is fine. The real traitors are up here. As Grey listened, he ascended the staircase, his steps utterly silent. The enemy officers on the second floor spotted him instantly. Too late. The weapons from below pierced through the floor, launching upward like executioners blades. Throats slashed. Chests pierced. Spines severed. Not a scream escaped. Grey barely suppressed a grin. His new cybernetic arm was far superior to the original. He recalled a conversation with Qin Mo Why did his augment grant him telekinetic abilities? What was the science behind it? Qin Mo had explained. "Your arm generates a localized magnetic field, allowing you to manipulate objects within its range." Grey clenched his fist. .... The chapel had no third floor. At the far end of the second level, a narrow stairway led to the bell tower. Grey climbed swiftly. Hold up, guys, found the enemys armory! a jubilant voice burst through his mind. Then "BOOM!" As Grey reached the top of the bell tower, a beam of light lanced upward one kilometer ahead. Sarch* The Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A massive explosion followed. The shockwave shattered every stained-glass window in the chapel. "Stay mission-focused," Grey reminded. "War isnt won just by killing the enemy." "Relax, Brother. I know the objective. I just fired one shot from a distance," Vendis replied calmly. Grey didnt respond, he returned to his task, scanning from the bell tower. The entire district unfolded before his enhanced vision. Every patrol routemapped. Every armored vehicleidentified. Every artillery positionnoted. Every resting soldier inside buildingsmarked. Data streamed into the mission logauto-tagged, archived, and synchronized with the rest of the Thunderborns. Though enemy deployments would shift, this intelligence was invaluable. The all-out assault on the Upper Hive was coming. The Tactical data from now would remain mostly valid. Once one district was fully mapped, Grey immediately moved to the next. .... Anruida, newly assigned to secure teleportation sites, arrived at a sprawling plaza nestled between glittering towers and armored spires in the heart of the Upper Hives immaculate urban sprawl. He had already marked four locations as suitable for mass teleportation, and the pristine Upper Hive environment made this job far easier. There was just one problem. Every park and plaza had been converted into enemy garrisons. Anruida didnt hesitate. He had to clear them out first. Despite being a Thunderborn, he had never considered himself a warrior. He assumed the only reason he had been chosen was because he was a survivor of the 44th Regiment or perhaps Qin Mo needed a combat administrator. Among the Thunderborns, he handled records, mission logs, and classified information. But here he stood, in the open, surrounded by enemy soldiers. Las-shrapnels flared. Shoulder-mounted cannons roared. He didnt move, ignoring the incoming gunfire and artillery. He didnt need to. He stood still, firing methodically, a living turret of precision firepower. He simply raised his arm, and shrapnel-laser bursts vaporized an entire enemy squad. Each shoulder cannon strike unleashed explosive plasma that liquefied ferrocrete and flesh alike, erasing dozens with every blast. He systematically turned and annihilated every hostile unit in sight. Within three minutes, the plaza was clear. Without hesitation, he fired his shoulder cannon downward, blasting deep, smoldering holes in the ground. He placed a teleport beacon inside one of them, and sealed it shut, melting the surrounding metal plating. Ensuring future patrols wouldnt find it. As he worked, a thought crept into his mind Then, he dismissed the idea. The Upper Hive was massive, nearly the size of the Lower Hive, spanning tens of thousands of blocks. Killing every enemy was fantasy. Thats when he realized: The Thunderborn power armor was never meant to be a superweapon for mass extermination. Qin Mo designed it for something greater. Not to replace an army, but to break the enemys back, with elite soldiers. To shatter command structures. To cripple defenses. To pave the way for the soldiers. The standard infantry would then sweep through the remains. Anruida activated his thrusters, rising above the city. "Lets pick up the pace, brothers," he called out through the neural link as he launched toward the next sector. If we keep this pace, well be ready for the full-scale assault by tomorrow. The war for the Upper Hive was about to begin. Chapter 80: Bullet Time Even for the Thunderborns, navigating and executing operations across the vast expanse of the Upper Hive was an arduous task, a feat that demanded at least a full day and night to complete. Each of them had a mission. Each had a role to play. As his comrades focused on their missions, Grey without the bulk of his Thunderborn power armor, continued his stealth reconnaissance, moving through the city unseen, weaving through the shadows. When Anruida had suggested that the full-scale assault could begin by tomorrow, Grey had disagreed immediately. Dont be hasty, brother," Grey had said over their vox-link "The Upper Hive is far larger than we expected. No matter what, the attack will have to wait until the day after tomorrow." A short silence, then Anruida sighed. "Youre right. Maybe Im just anxious, being deep in enemy territory does that." Grey pressed forward through the dark, his senses keyed to the hunt, seeking more critical enemy assetscommand centers, high-ranking officers, anything of strategic significance. Every target marked. Every key structure logged. The destruction wrought by his comrades served as the perfect cover for his infiltration. Las-shotgun blasts echoed across the hive. Energy beams lanced through hab-blocks, igniting fuel reserves in chained detonations. Explosions lit up the darkness, enemy squads scrambled, their orders frantic, their cohesion shattered. At times, the sky above would momentarily illuminate with fire, only for darkness to swallow the streets once more. However, most of the Upper Hives architecture made it feel more like a labyrinthine interior rather than an open-air citynarrow alleys, bridges connecting towers, massive interior chambers, as if the city itself were designed to entrap intruders. Grey moved swiftly. ... After more than fifty minutes of silent advance, Grey halted. Ahead stood a massive wall-like structure, stretching across the center of the district. Massive. Old. Unyielding. Greys augmented vision processed its structure. The results displayed a 20-kilometer-wide square complex. The fortress had endured for over 1,100 years, and there was only one entrance, 700 meters ahead. The scans showed heavy life signs inside at least in the thousands, but that wasn''t conclusive. Many areas of the hive were densely populated. At first glance, it seemed like any other hive fortress. Yet the name etched into the structures data logs made his eyes narrow. [The Wall of Koy.] He had never been to the Upper Hive before, yet everyone in the Lower Hive knew of this legendary fortress. .... A thousand years ago, during the Great Rebellion, the Governor of Tyrone Hive, Koy, had faced an uprising. A war sparked by a gladiator-slave who vowed to decapitate the ruling nobility, leading hundreds of thousands in revolt. But Koy had anticipated the insurrection. Before the rebels could gain ground, he constructed the Wall of Koya last bastion, dug in and held until reinforcements from Talon II arrived. The rebellion was crushed. The gladiators army was massacred to the last man. sea??h th ovelFire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The name of the slave gladiator who led that rebellion? Valor, the Champion of Blood. Grey had always dismissed the story as propaganda, a fabricated Imperial cautionary tale. But now As he stood before the fortress itself, he knew, it was real. And putting himself in the mind of the enemys command: if he were holding the Upper Hive and the Spire, what better place to establish a headquarters than within a fortress that once crushed a rebellion? His decision was made. He would confirm this hypothesis with further recon. Scanning the area, Grey spotted a spire five hundred meters to the rear left and moved toward it immediately. Its altitude and proximity would serve as a perfect vantage point. .... The streets leading between the Wall and the spire were infested with enemy patrol units. But Grey didnt need to fight. Instead, he moved unseen. He avoided line-of-sight, sometimes slipping into side rooms, sometimes clinging to walls like a spider, his synthetic musculature allowing him to perch and leap with superhuman precision, other times scaling walls and darting across rooftops. Within moments, he arrived at the spires perimeter. The spires base was fortified, encircled by a high wall. Inside were more than fifty infantry and a single Leman Russ battle tank. Outside, multiple patrols and sentries. Something felt off. Why was a single spire so heavily fortified? The sounds of distant explosions echoed across the hive, yet the defenders didnt react. They held their ground, visibly tense but unwavering. Grey looked up. His optics zoomed in on the spires apex, magnifying the view until it was clear as day. Atop the tower were over a dozen missile silos, their payloads not immediately identifiable, but clearly dangerous. Grey concluded that the missile batteries needed to be neutralized first. Only then could he confirm whether the Wall of Koy housed the enemys command structure. With a quick tactical plan formed, Grey infiltrated the compound, slipping behind a stone cherubim statue within the perimeter, preparing to strike. The fifty-some soldiers inside were clustered around the Leman Russ, staring at the horizon as distant blasts colored the sky. Like spectators watching fireworks, they gazed for minutes until fear etched itself into their expressions. They spoke in hushed, anxious tones. "Shit, brothers I think the enemys already teleported in." That damn teleport tech is heretical. I heard a psyker say he saw an entire regiment appear inside one of our battalions they wiped them out instantly." Or maybe its those cursed bastards in there fancy power armor doing another stealth op. Either way, our orders are to hold the Whirlwind launchers. While they chatted, none of them noticed that half their sheathed combat knives had begun to float off their belts. Slowly, silently, the daggers drifted behind their owners necks, aligned to strike. With a thought, Grey launched the blades. Controlled by a neural-linked telekinetic field, the daggers moved faster and struck harder than any mortal hand could manage. In less than a second, they lunged forward, slashing through throats like whispering guillotines. But to Greys augmented perception, time slowed to a crawl. His spinal augments kicked in. His reaction speed multiplied exponentially. Voices became stretched and distorted. Wwwhaaat the hell is thaaaat As the knives slowly pierced necks, Grey heard the stretched, wet tear of steel meeting flesh. Their nervous systems had just registered pain, but they hadnt processed death yet. And before the pain could fully register in their minds, Greys cybernetic arms plating retracted, a gun barrel extended. He fired ten shots in rapid succession. The bullets drifted forward in slow arcs, their impact delayed. Grey lunged toward the remaining soldiers, snapping necks one by one before the bullets even landed. By the time the last skull cracked, the ten rounds had reached their targets, punching through skulls and shredding grey matter. Fifty bodies collapsedkneeling, slumping forward, twitching, dead. The chaos was drowned in the ongoing thunder of distant demolition charges detonated by the Thunderborns. Inside the tank, the crew hadnt even realized their comerades outside were dead. Until another explosion shook the district. Grey punched through the tanks turret plating, with his cybernetic arm. Metal cracked, splintered. He emptied the last of his micro-rounds, killing the crew instantly. With the tank silent, Grey extracted his arm and leapt down from the turret. Then, he turned. The spires interior awaited. The enemy within had no idea what was coming for them. Chapter 81: I Have a Plan The enemy presence inside the spire was surprisingly light. Greys augmented optics tagged two guards stationed at the entrance, and on the stairwell spiraling up to the apex, there was one enemy positioned every three steps. As another enemy military outpost detonated in a burst of flame and promethium in the distance, Grey drove both cybernetic arms straight through the blast door, crushing the two guards inside with raw, unrelenting force. He stepped over their twitching corpses, retrieved the combat knives strapped to their belts, and charged up the stairs. He stormed up the winding stairwell like a living thunderstrike. Though he was unavoidably seen, every enemy fell with a slit throat before their minds could even register the threat. Even without the luxury of using Bullet Time, every enemy reaction appeared agonizingly slow to his enhanced perception. Not only did he cut them down effortlessly, but he even had time to collect their knives off their bodies, letting them orbit around his body under his telekinetic control, each blade an extension of his lethal intent. By the time he reached the top of the spire, he left nothing behind but a trail of tumbling corpses on blood-slicked steps. Awaiting him at the summit was a confused officer holding a steaming tin mug, and a few subordinates stationed near the missile pods. "Intrud" Before the officer could even finish the word, a dagger found its mark, puncturing his throat in a silent testament to Greys efficiency. Grey then hurled the rest of the blades, each one finding its target with surgical precision. By the time the final knife struck, the platform was littered with twenty-eight corpses, each kill meticulously recorded by his augmented optical systems. [Kill Count: 28 | Time Elapsed: 3.02 seconds] "Shame I didnt wear my power armor," Grey muttered. Had he anticipated the strategic importance of the Wall of Koy and this spire, he wouldnt have wasted time on stealth. He would have stormed in fully armored like a true son of the Imperium. It didn''t matter anymore. There was more work to do. Grey raised his augmetic arm, its built-in telekinetic field humming with controlled energy as it pulled every missile from its launch bay. One by one, the warheads levitated out of their pods. Then he clenched his fist. The entire missile array crumpled inwards, warping their frames beyond repair. Grey stepped to the edge of the platform, gazing toward the imposing Wall of Koy. His enhanced vision zoomed in, rendering the distant scene with pinpoint clarity, as if he were standing inside the fortress itself. His optics began scanning, outlining every foe concealed in crumbling buildings or lurking behind shattered cover. Though he couldnt discern their faces or insignias, every movement was mapped with mechanical precision. At the center of the fortress loomed a massive iron citadel. Grey focused on a particular officer, seen walking in and out of the structure, tracking him until he stepped into full view. Sar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The moment Greys intention to identify him registered, his bioprocessor immediately engaged: A line extended from his shoulder, marking the officers rank insignia for rapid analysis. Another tracked his gait, comparing it against databanks filled with trillions of soldier profiles. A third line zoomed in on the dossier clutched in his hand, scanning its contents. The final conclusion appeared in the center of Greys vision. [Rank: Regimental Commander, Planetary Defense Force (Possible Discrepancy: Talon II may use alternate rank nomenclature)] [Document: Upper Hive Defense Plan, 13th Army] [Identification Certainty: 99.3%] Grey chuckled. "This guys worse than our own regimental commanders." He was certain now, the fortress within the Wall of Koy was the enemys command center. ..... Grey hesitated for only a moment. Then he saw the officers hastily packing up their files and troops preparing vehicles. Clearly, the enemy was relocating. Alerted by the destruction wrought across the Upper Hive, they were preparing to move their command post. Grey made his decision. He activated his vox-link. "Attention, everyone, lock on my signal. Prepare for immediate teleportation. Ive located the enemy command center." The moment Greys voice echoed through the network, every Thunderborn halted their current task. Whether pinned under amid the relentless enemy artillery fire. Others paused mid-kill, retracting their blades with disciplined precision. All of them prepared for teleportation. Grey leapt from the spire top, his massive frame crashing into the ground below in a cloudburst of shattered stone and dust. Without hesitation, he rose and sprinted toward the Wall of Koy. He didnt take cover. He didnt zig-zag. He chose the fastest line between two points, a direct charge. The fortress walls were heavily manned. Even Greys speed couldnt keep him hidden for long. Soon, sirens wailed across the fortress as enemy troops scrambled to assume defensive positions, mounting heavy boltguns, plasma turrets, and autocannon emplacements along the ramparts. Greys speed was nothing short of inhuman. Even before the first gunshots could find their mark, the soldiers gawked at his blurred form darting across the battlefield. In desperation, they opened fire in his general direction. At that moment, Grey deployed Qin Mos teleportation drone. A burst of heavy-caliber fire tore through Greys synthetic skin, briefly exposing the reinforced cybernetics beneath, but he pressed on. The drone soared ahead, maintaining a 100-meter lead. Seconds later, the first Thunderborn teleported in. He scanned his surroundings before charging forward. Then came the second. Then the third Until finally, Yoan and Anruida arrived. All five Thunderborns had abandoned their previous objectives, now singularly focused on this mission. Their power armor reflected the harsh glare of searchlights, and their jump packs ignited with righteous fury. Heavy gunfire rained down, yet their gravity shields held firm, absorbing impacts that would''ve atomized normal troops, converting the onslaught into stored energy for their armors systems. So much incoming fire that their systems nearly maxed out. Brothers, I have a plan, Grey said between strides. In an instant, his neural net shared the strategy across their combat-links. Words werent needed. They understood without hesitation. Anruida, charging at the front, raised both arms to target the defenders on the wall. His shoulder cannons tilted down at the walls base. In an instant, a barrage of shrapnel-laser bursts mowed down entire scores of defenders along the battlements. Then the plasma cannon fired, three searing beams. Each beam melted a massive section of the Wall of Koy into slag before their very eyes. Greys plan was simple a tactic honed from a past battle, the same maneuver used to capture the rogue Cultist psyker. Blow a hole in the enemys defenses, and then charge through. Chapter 82: Heads Exploding Anruida fired three las-beams, each burst hissing through the air with a high-pitched whine, the searing energy slicing molten gouges into the fortress barrier. The wall trembled, sections bubbling and liquefying under the immense heat. His pace slowed momentarily, only for Vendis to surge past him, discharging his scatter-laser at the enemy before following up with a triple burst from his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon, obliterating the nearest sentry post. Then came the next Thunderborn. Grey, unarmored and without heavy weaponry, had no firepower to bring to bear. Instead, he moved like a spear tip, a blur of kinetic fury, an unstoppable force carving forward at breakneck speed. In less than four seconds, the formidable Wall of Koy had been breached, its mighty battlements groaning and collapsing inward, its once-impenetrable defense reduced to a yawning gap. But Grey wasnt concerned with this breach. The Wall of Koy was never his true objective. Without hesitation, five Thunderborns stormed through the opening, their golden armor blazing with the fiery glow of destruction as they advanced. Their target lay ahead: the command fortress. Perhaps anticipating a teleportation incursion, the internal and surrounding fortifications were bristling with far heavier firepower than the outer walls. Heavy bolter turrets roared, vomiting mass-reactive shells at a relentless pace. Streams of hellgun fire and lasblasts crisscrossed the air, forming a blinding lattice of death. The sheer volume of incoming fire was staggering. Explosions rocked the corridor, plumes of shrapnel and debris choking the battlefield in smoke and flame. Yet, even in the choking smoke, the Thunderborns pressed forward, unstoppable and undeterred. The defenders had encountered them before. They knew the strength of Thunderborn armor. And they knew that brute force alone wouldn''t be enough. On the second level of the command fortress, a heretic psyker in ornate battle robes leaned out from a reinforced firing slit, his armor etched with profane symbols that shimmered in unnatural hues, his eyes locking onto the golden warriors below. The Thunderborn had already closed half the distance, only a kilometer remained. Muttering incantations in a tongue twisted by the Warp, the psyker turned and sprinted deeper into the fortress, dark energy snapping like lightning around his fingertips. The distance placed him beyond the reach of the Thunderborns anti-psyker fields, they couldnt neutralize his power from this range. He still had time to act. But the Thunderborns had no patience for sorcery. Beam cannons locked onto the fortress windows. Scatter-laser bombardments raked the upper levels, their searing blasts chipping away at reinforced ferrocrete. Most shots dissipated against the fortress walls, as the psyker''s incantation reached completion. A distortion rippled through the battlefield. The Thunderborns'' gravity shields wavered, momentarily disrupted by the psykers warp-infused assault. Though their anti-psyker countermeasures dampened the effect, the brief collapse was enough for the enemy to react. Four elite shock troopers, clad in carapace armor and wielding hellguns, charged toward Vendis, their visors glowing red behind plasteel masks, their weapons primed to take advantage of his momentary vulnerability. Yoan had never faced hellguns in live combat. But Qin Mo had described them in gruesome detail. He understood just how deadly those weapons were at close range. No one had time to react. Fortunately, no one had to. Because the grav-shields rebooted almost instantly. The moment the gravitational field snapped back into place, the shock troopers were caught mid-stride, and were crushed. Their bodies collapsed inward with a hideous crunch, bones pulverized, organs ruptured in an instant. Their weapons clattered to the ground, nothing more than shattered remnants of their futile assault. From another firing slit, the psyker peeked out again, his face pale beneath the warpaint, contorted in shock and rage, before he began to channel another incantation. ?"?????"? Two seconds later, Grey heard the scream. My headmy HEAD! AHHHHH! The psyker howled. His warp powers spiraled out of control. His eyes bulged, dark tears streaming from them, veins blackening as uncontrolled psychic energy surged through his mind like a collapsing star. "BOOM!" A muffled detonation echoed from the second floor. A sickening spray of blood, brain matter, and shattered bone erupted from the firing slit, splattering onto the scorched earth below. The Thunderborns, now at the fortresss foot, stepped through the gore without pause. Their shoulder-mounted cannons blasted four gaping breaches into the command fortress walls. All five stormed inside, beginning a brutal purge, splitting up, each warrior claiming a separate floor in an orchestrated slaughter. Screams echoed down the stairwells, silenced almost as quickly as they began. Within thirty seconds, the entire command fortress was cleared. Outside, enemy reinforcements rushed forward, desperate to reclaim their stronghold, only to watch in horror as beam fire erupted from within. The fortress wasnt theirs anymore. Grey, unarmored but no less lethal, descended to the fourth floor after clearing the upper levels. "Look out!" Anruidas voice rang through his mind. Grey barely registered the warning before Anruida blurred past him, a streak of gold and blood-red motion, leaving only a flickering afterimage in his wake. Where Anruida had been, an enemy now lay in ruins, his chest cavity a smoking void. Anruida smirked. "That spinal augment is really something." Grey ignored the remark. Hows your mission coming along? he asked instead. Ive planted several teleport beacons on the left side of the upper hive. Havent started on the right, Anruida replied, drawing a line in the air. He gestured toward the cityscape beyond the fortress. The central parade avenue splits them, left and right. "I know." Grey lowered his head in thought. Anruida waited silently. A moment later, Grey looked up. He had made his decision. "Forget the right side. We strike now, before the enemy has time to reestablish their command structure." Understood. Anruida nodded, his fingers dancing across his forearm console as he initiated teleport preparation. Everyone, get ready to teleport, Grey ordered. They activated the teleportation sequence simultaneously. And in an instant, they were gone. The hellish warzone vanished, replaced by the peaceful heart of New Kato. Yoan frowned, something clutched in his gauntleted grip. "The hell did this come from?" Everyone turned to see him holding a perfectly severed arm, the cut too smooth to be natural. Apparently, it had come through the teleporter with him. It didnt matter. Grey ignored it, already opening a vox-channel to Qin Mo, briefing him on the situation and suggesting a plan: Strike immediately, before the enemy could reassemble command. Qin Mos response was two simple words: "Begin war." .... "Wake the hell up!" The Regimental Commanders orders boomed through every barracks and trench line, the vox-speakers crackling with static as his voice surged like a thunderclap. "By order of the Lord Commander, every soldier is to prepare for battle! The entire regiment is moving! Were storming the Upper Hive! Kill those traitor-born mongrels! Sergeants sprinted through the halls, barking commands. To Creed, the First Legion seemed undisciplined. Even the Cadian Shock Troopers among them thought they were more like a militia than an army. But one thing could not be denied: This army was made up of two kinds of soldiers: those who survived a suicide war, and those from the Lower Hives most hardened militia, veterans of brutal urban warfare. The new recruits from the Underhive were still training, they wouldnt be deployed yet. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This was a war for the killers. Despite their chaotic nature, the troops responded with terrifying efficiency. They were used to sudden deployments. Their muscle memory kicked in before their minds could catch up. Within moments, soldiers across every regiment sprang awake, assembling at the armory to don their Praetorian Pattern power armor, take up lasguns, and run full equipment diagnostics on their dimensional teleportation stabilizers. Leman Russ tank crews rolled out onto open ground, their commanders climbing into position. As infantry and armor converged on the staging zone for mass teleportation, autonomous war-machines were already assembling. Artillery rolled out. Gravity-shield drones hovered to their assigned regiments. The war engine of New Kato was waking. Once preparation neared completion, Greys voice echoed across the entire legions vox-channel. Twelve regiments will teleport in first, forming a battle line for a frontal push. In the teleport beacon-heavy western sector, forces will teleport behind enemy lines. In the east, where few beacons exist, well grind forward the old-fashioned way. The Lord Commander once said: I place no faith in brilliant tactics or lucky gambits. I place faith only in superior weapons, overwhelming firepower, and unbreakable armor. The Thunderborns have paved the way. Now we deliver the final blow. The Lord Commander watches over us. We will crush the heretics!" A deafening war cry echoed through the vox-network. Every soldier felt it, as if Qin Mo himself was gazing down upon them. And indeed, he was. From his command center, watching through drone feeds, Qin Mo saw the army ready for war. With a single command. He activated the mass teleportation sequence. Chapter 83: The Assault Begins Upper Hive C Pre-Invasion Chaos As the Thunderborns ceased their saboteur strikes, Venomfangs forces surged in to assess the devastation, only to be met by a wasteland of blasted ruins and smoldering wreckage, the air thick with ash and the metallic tang of ionized smoke. Confused and seething with frustration, they scoured the broken thoroughfares and shattered spires aimlessly, finding no trace of the elusive enemy. Meanwhile, word of the obliterated command center had not yet reached High Command. Bereft of fresh directives, the heretic units began a hasty withdrawal to their pre-assigned defensive positions, mechanically reverting to their original deployment plans like insects following a dead queens last pheromone trail. .... Within minutes, five defensive sectors in the westernmost districts of the Upper Hive were caught in a maelstrom of unexpected assault. From every conceivable direction. Autonomous artillery batteries, loyal to no master but their programming commenced a ruthless shelling spanning from the northernmost foxholes all the way down to the southernmost outpost. The sky was rent by streaks of hellish shells, each a messenger of annihilation. The once-pristine firmament of the Hive turned a sickly orange, backlit by fire and ruptured ozone. Explosions tore through ancient fortifications, reducing venerable structures and hardened emplacements to mere heaps of debris and dust. Infantry huddled in their cramped bunkers, weapons clutched in trembling hands as they muttered fervent invocations to the Lord of Wisdom, pleading for survival under the relentless, indiscriminate shelling. Even the high-ranking officers, their voices quivering as they manned their command posts, sent frantic, desperate reports up the chain of command: "The enemy has teleported in!" "We are under heavy bombardment!" "Requesting immediate reinforcement!" Yet, there was only static in reply. Even a request for retreat, an order that should have been met with curses and reprimands, was instead met with silence. Stripped of all command, the officers retreated into their shelters, whispering meager prayers for survival beneath the oppressive din of war. The screams of incoming shells were ceaseless, and with every detonation the very ground quaked as if in torment. Amid the roaring explosions, the distant, anguished cries of the wounded could still be discerned, though they were drowned in the cacophony of artillery thunder. As the barrage poured down like the wrath of the Emperor, recon drones soared overheadsilent, unblinking eyes scanning the chaotic battlefields. Every surviving enemy combatants location was digitized in real time and relayed back to the autonomous artillery control units. By the fifth wave of shelling, the refined targeting algorithms kicked in. Those who had survived the earlier bombardment, believing they had been spared by divine will, once again heard the whistle of falling death. But this time, every shell found its mark with unerring precision just outside their flimsy bunkers and trenches. "Boom! Boom! Boom!" Each thunderous impact battered the defensive lines, hammering reinforced walls and unleashing torrents of molten shrapnel in every direction. Inside the crumbling shelters, soldiers winced at each impact that rattled their fragile hopes, their whispered prayers faltering under the weight of impending doom. Then, after an uncountable succession of explosions, the bunker ceilings began to fracture. Dust cascaded in ghostly plumes. Horror-stricken soldiers craned upward in mute terror. A final, devastating shell burst through, detonating within the confines of the bunker. Flames, shockwaves, and the grisly spray of shredded flesh erupted from every breach, erasing entire squads in a single, cataclysmic moment. This grim scenario repeated endlessly over the three-hour-long bombardment. When the last shell finally found its mark, the artillery drones relayed a resupply request, teleporting back to the Underhive to fetch fresh munitions. The moment the relentless bombardment subsided, the First Legion surged forward. At the northernmost defensive line, those few survivors barely had time to gasp before the very earth trembled beneath the thunder of advancing troops. In the distance, they beheld a fearsome sight. Armored infantry clad in ceramite power armour, marching in disciplined unison alongside hovering Leman Russ tanks, their bolters and lascannons primed for carnage. Trailing behind them, more infantry emerged, methodically zeroing in on targets with deadly precision. Every las-shot was a death sentencepiercing flesh, severing limbs, felling foes with surgical accuracy. The Leman Russ tanks then unleashed volleys of rocketseach salvo, a dozen or more warheads tearing through the aira full company of armored behemoths, advancing in flawless formation. The entire battlefield was soon engulfed in raging infernos. Buildings collapsed, intricate trenchworks were obliterated beneath roaring firestorms, and even the metal-plated ground turned a sorrowful, ashen black. By the time the choking smoke dispersed, the once-formidable defensive line had been utterly annihilated. Not a single heretic combatant remained. The two attacking regiments swept through the smoldering ruins, initiating bio-scans to detect any remaining life before executing them without hesitation. Each soldier, hardened by war, became an instrument of merciless retribution. They witnessed the despair etched on the faces of their dying foes. Flickers of regret passed across scorched visages, too late for redemption. Perhaps, in those final moments, the heretics finally understood that blind faith in the Lord of Wisdom was meaningless. Once the northernmost defensive line was secured, the two regiments waited for their comrades to finish clearing the other four trenches. Then, they would all teleport to the next battlefield .... Ever the vanguard, the Thunderborns always led the charge. With the bulk of regular forces dispatched to neutralize secondary defensive positions, the Thunderborns were free to concentrate on critical, high-value objectives. Grey tore through three dilapidated buildings, charging into a fortified chapel and systematically clearing every entrenched heavy weapon operator. Consulting his data-link, he confirmed that he was near the second enemy defensive sector. Then, for the first time, he paused, pondering the enemys layered stratagems. The enemy hadnt merely erected haphazard obstacles. They had constructed five meticulously planned defensive lines along the southern approaches to the Upper Hive. Yet, due to Anruidas pre-planted teleport beacons in the western sector, their forces had bypassed the primary frontlines entirely. Launching a surprise flank assault. Grey had assumed they would teleport directly into the heart of the heretics defensive lines. But now, clarity struck him. The entire defensive plan of the enemy had been rendered obsolete by the order of Qin Mo. "I see a fortress." Yoans voice crackled over the vox-link. Immediately, the targets coordinates materialized on Greys HUD, his enhanced optics mapping the fortresss exact contours. To the unaided eye, it was but a modest cluster of buildings, seemingly insignificant. Yet his enhanced optics delineated the fortresss precise structure, revealing it as a perfectly square stronghold. "Another relic of a millennia-old Hive?" "Most likely." "We take the roof first, clear downward." sea??h th n?vel_Fire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Without further discussion, the Thunderborns mobilized. .... This stronghold, though stout, paled in comparison to the monumental Wall of Koy, they could easily vault over it. Each Thunderborn scaled a nearby tall building, vaulted to its rooftop, and then leaped with precision toward the fortress. They descended from every conceivable angle, landing simultaneously upon the fortress roof. Panic seized the defenders. In their disarray, they could not even decide whom to target first. By the time they picked a target, most were already cold corpses. The roof was secured in mere seconds. Then, the Thunderborns breached downward. Gunfire and agonized screams intermingled as energy beams lanced through walls. Entire squads were annihilated before they could mount any semblance of resistance. From the outside, the fortress trembled as its garrison was eradicated from within. The Thunderborns moved with the brutal precision born of countless campaigns, their focus absolute. Yet, amid the chaos of slaughter and conquest, none of them noticed. They were being watched. Chapter 84: The True Plan "We lost another fortress." Venomfang sighed, slumping back into his throne, its surface now etched with ancient, forbidden runes of the Dark Tongue. The blasphemous glyphs twisted and slithered like living things in the dim light, pulsing with the heartbeat of the Warp itself. With deliberate care, he removed the Six-Eyed Gem from his brow. Each of its baleful orbs pulsed with a sickly, otherworldly luminescence, a fragment of the Immateriums infinite madness, whispering secrets beyond mortal comprehension. It was no mere ornament. The artifact was a repository of ancient esoteric knowledge, a seething wellspring of foresight that had guided his campaigns. And yet, even with all its revelations, it had shown him only another failure. Through its ominous visions, Venomfang had witnessed yet another of his strongholds fall to the enemys power-armored warriors. As expected, the fortress had been breached within moments. Crackling beams of searing plasma lanced through its venerable walls, melting reinforced adamantium and ceramite bulkheads alike, reducing once-proud battlements to molten ruin. The defenders had stood no chance. Had it not been for the shuddering tremors echoing through the command spire, he wouldnt even have known the battle had begun. Not a single report had reached him from his subordinates, as if the chain of command had simply ceased to exist the moment the enemy set foot on the Upper Hive. Leaving him to piece together the grim events from sparse and scattered data. "Are they advancing quickly?" his attendant asked, cautiously. "Very quickly." Venomfang nodded. It had become a pattern. "Regular" infantry engaged their lesser defenses. The "Super Soldiers" as Venomfang had named them, tore through the critical fortifications with horrifying ease. Their relentless assault surged forward with dreadful, unyielding velocity. The attendant fell silent. He had served Venomfang long enough to understand what truly unnerved him. This was not an enemy that relied on brilliant tactics, deception, or strategic gambits It was an enemy that simply crushed everything with brute force. The enemys method was as straightforward as it was effective: Teleport in. Blitz the front lines from all sides. Regular infantry secure the flanks, ensuring that retreat or regrouping was impossible. Elite warriors shatter strongpoints, punching through their defenses like a power fist through flakboard. This approach, though lacking in elaborate theatrics, embodied the cold logic of conflict, a calculated response as natural as drawing a laspistol in the heat of battle. This wasnt genius. It was inevitability. .... "But where the hell is my command structure?" Venomfang scowled, his gaze lowering to the opulent, gold-inlaid floor. He did not trust his own forces. "Theres a strong chance that our subordinates are deliberately cutting me out, refusing to relay critical information, perhaps out of misguided ambition or cowardice." His tone was measured, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. The attendant winced, struggling for words of reassurance. "But, Lord, surely the Cult of the Lord of Wisdom wouldnt betray you not at a time like this?" Venomfangs breathing grew heavier. He knew the Cult thrived on deceit. It was their currency, their doctrine, their scripture. But even so, this was madness. For once, there was no room for scheming. There was nothing left to gain from playing politics. His attendant shifted uneasily. "Lord perhaps we should remain optimistic?" The words had barely left his lips before Venomfangs hand lashed out, striking him across the face. "Optimism is for fools." At this rate, he estimated the enemy would seize the Upper Hive in less than three days. Then, the Spire itself would be next. And that terrified him. S~ea??h the Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. .... "How will they assault the Spire?" Venomfang mused aloud, his mind racing through the possibilities. Would they scout first? Would they teleport directly in? His psychic wards designed to shield him from incursions and seers alike had proven ineffective against this relentless foe, leaving him with an ever-growing sense of unease. The Spires structure offered little cover. Its skeletal gantries and towering hab-blocks made teleportation the most likely vector. Or had enemy vanguard forces already infiltrated it? The more he pondered, the more uncertainty gnawed at him. Venomfang had always relished sowing discord among his enemies, watching their resolve crumble beneath his machinations. But now he was the one unraveling, and that wasnt fun at all. "Is the plan ready?" He snapped, turning to his attendant with a tone that brooked no delay. "Almost," the man replied, bowing his head. As before, they would lure enemies into "transport ships." Once aboard, they would discover the deception. Their sanctuary would become their tomb, a prison of psychic flame, searing their souls in offering to the Lord of Wisdom. The sacrificial rites to fuel the grand ritual were nearly complete. "Deploy every last soldier to the Upper Hive." Venomfang rose from his throne, his eagerness palpable as he prepared to oversee the final phase. The attendant hesitated, his hands wringing beneath his robes. Venomfang turned, his gaze like a blade. "Why are you hesitating?" "The ritual isnt fully deciphered." The attendant trembled. "The ancient texts are incomplete. Some steps are missing and the ritual requires the officiant to surrender their soul." His voice faltered under Venomfangs withering glare. "Lord if you would grant me time to find another officiant someone more qualified, perhaps I could refine the process." Venomfangs response was swift. A laspistol materialized in his grip. He pressed it against his servants forehead. "You have two choices: enact the ritual, or die here." The attendant shuddered, his knees buckling. "If I perform it, my fate will be worse than death!" he pleaded. Venomfangs voice was merciless. "I can make death seem merciful." Defeated, the attendant staggered after his master toward the ritual. .... In the Governors Palace Garden, mountains of blue-tinted ashes loomed like graveyard monoliths, their ashen scent thick with the tang of sacrificial immolation. The sky above churned with unnatural hues, the atmosphere tinged with Warp-born corruption. Tiny, bioluminescent motes drifted through the air like wayward spirits, dancing in lazy spirals around metallic flora. The artificial flowers once a marvel of Imperial artifice, had twisted into grotesque, eldritch configurations. Their petals curled and bent in ways that defied natural symmetry, their polished ceramite exteriors now pulsing with an unsettling, organic texture. Some of them wept ichor. Others whispered in voices too faint to be understood. To gaze upon them for too long was to invite madness. At the heart of the defiled garden, before a charnel mound of human remains, Venomfang stood tall. The weight of the moment bore down upon him, his ornate warplate slick with the residue of previous offerings. Behind him, his attendant, a hunched and cowled figure, trembled but dared not flee. He kept his eyes to the ground, unwilling to meet his masters gaze. "This... is what I have dedicated my entire life to?" Venomfangs voice was low, contemplative, yet every syllable carried the weight of something vast and terrible. He stared at the desecrated ceremonial site, his gauntleted fingers tightening. "A ritual meant to elevate me beyond the shackles of mortality, to transcend this feeble existence and embrace daemonhood?" His attendant gave no answer, merely shrinking further into his robes. Venomfangs thoughts turned inward, recalling the path that had led him here. .... The night Deacon-Primaris David fell, he had begged to remain in Tyrone Hive, pleading some feigned piety. But Venomfang had seen an opportunity. The First Legion''s devastation had provided him with a gift: hundreds of thousands of souls, their fates unwritten. He had demanded prisoners by the thousands, claiming they were needed for the war effort, for labor. In truth, he was gathering more "materials" for this moment. The noble citizens of the Upper Hive, those who had called themselves righteous had never been destined for salvation. The entire "transport ship" deception, the illusion that prisoners were boarding transports to safety. Had all been a lie. A ritual in disguise. An elaborate spell, crafted with his attendant and secrets of accursed tomes. It had all led to this. And now, after years of subterfuge, after whispers exchanged in candlelit crypts and oaths sworn in the blood of the innocent, it was time. .... "Begin the ritual." Venomfangs command was absolute. His attendant hesitated. "M-master, please let me find another officiant allow me time" A laser bolt scorched the ground near his feet. The meaning was clear: there would be no delay. With no other choice, the attendant raised his staff high. And he began to chant. Ancient syllables, discordant yet harmonic, slithered into the still air, resonating with a frequency beyond mortal comprehension. The very fabric of reality shuddered in response. Venomfang felt it immediately, an awareness pressing against him, an unseen force uncoiling within the depths of the Warp. The ground beneath him rippled, as if it were no longer solid. A pulse of power surged through his body, setting his nerves alight with unnatural energy. Knowledge older than humanity itself flooded his mind. Secrets buried beneath the layers of time became his to command. He felt the barriers between worlds thin, felt his very essence shifting, becoming more than it had ever been. He was on the brink of transcendence. He glimpsed it, his apotheosis. Wings of shadow, a voice that shattered minds, a form wreathed in divine fire. A Daemon Prince, eternal and mighty, crowned by the Omniscient Mind. Feared. Worshipped. Infinite. Until he wasnt. Something felt wrong. He was growing taller. At first, it seemed like the natural course of ascension. Then he looked down. From his thighs, fanged maws erupted, gnashing hungrily at the air. His fingers writhed, splitting into serpentine tendrils that coiled and twitched of their own volition. His armored arms softened, bones twisting, flesh stretching, horns bursting forth from his shoulders. ?"No No! NO"? Venomfang screamed in terror. He looked to his attendant, expecting fear. But the old wretch was smiling. Not in relief. Not in reverence. But in mockery. In cruel satisfaction. Venomfang tried to speak, to demand answers, but his mouth was no longer his own. His jaw distended, reshaping into a yawning, tooth-lined void from which only unnatural wails emerged. His body twisted further, shifting beyond all reason, losing all semblance of humanity. His mind shattered, unraveling like frayed tapestry threads. By the time he ceased to exist, his form was no longer describable. He had not ascended. He had been . A Chaos Spawn. Once a mortal. Now a grotesque mockery of life and ambition. These were the wretched end-state of those who sought the favor of the Dark Gods and failed to meet their unknowable expectations. Twisted by unchecked Warp energy, their bodies became unstable canvases upon which Chaos left its most perverse signatures. Venomfang''s transformation was no ascension into daemonhood. It was punishment. A rejection. No two Chaos Spawn are alike. His flesh had become a seething mass of limbs, maws, tendrils, and sensory appendages, growing and retracting at random, bubbling with unnatural motion. His once-proud form, pristine warplate and regal stance had melted into a chimeric horror devoid of symmetry, sense, or soul. Such creaturesChaos Spawnwere not entirely mindless, but nor were they truly sentient. They existed in a state of permanent agony and rage, lashing out at anything and everything with berserk fury, driven by corrupted instincts and the echoes of shattered identity. Capable of immense destruction, they were unpredictable and uncontrollable, unless bound by sorcery, as this one now was. His attendant, no longer trembling, stepped forward. He lifted a withered hand, and with a flick of his psychic will, he bound the writhing abomination that had once been his master in place. The spawn thrashed, howled, gnawed at its own limbs, but could not break free. He chuckled, the sound rich with satisfaction. "A fitting end for a fool drunk on his own genius." His voice was not one of pity or even scorn. It was triumph. Because He had written the final page of Venomfangs saga. His gaze lifted beyond the defiled garden, beyond the cursed palace, to the void-laced skies above. And he whispered, "This is only the beginning. When I deliver you to Talon II the true plan will commence." Chapter 85: Thunderstrike As Qin Mo channeled power into the teleportarium, calibrating its systems with practiced precision, an unfamiliar sensation clawed at his consciousness. It was a sickening wave of revulsion, an instinctual warning embedded deep within his psyche. At first, he dismissed it as residual exhaustion from the war, yet the sensation grew ever more virulent. The presence was undeniable now, a malignant force gnawing at the very fabric of reality. His grip on the controls tightened. Slowly, Qin Mo lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. He could not see beyond the layers of adamantium plating and rockcrete, yet he knew, at the very pinnacle of the hive spire something foul had taken root. A blight upon the Materium. The very air, the environment, even the laws of physics seemed to distort and waver around its presence. Warp-born filth. "Grey, report on the warfront." he commanded, his voice cold and incisive through the vox-link embedded in his helm. Through the crackling static, Grey responded. "Eastern sector of the upper hive is collapsing. Enemy command has shattered, deserters flood the streets." "Can we divert forces to the hive spire?" Qin Mo''s tone was devoid of doubt. Grey hesitated, his words punctuated by the distant roar of battle. Gunfire and the shriek of dying machinery bled into the transmission. "At least six regiments. The enemy is in disarray. Securing the spire will not cost us much." Qin Mo exhaled slowly. The hive spire itself was not a primary strategic target, merely another structure in the larger war effort. But given their current advantage, diverting a portion of their forces to secure it wouldnt be an issue. But this wasnt about strategy, it was a necessity. "Relay to Yoan to prepare the teleportarium. The rest of you continue pressing into the upper hive. I shall secure the spire personally." "Understood Ill inform Yoan at once." Grey hesitated briefly, unsure of what had drawn Qin Mos personal attention. This war did not require his direct intervention, yet Grey was not one to question orders, his duty was to obey. Upon receiving the command, Yoan immediately disengaged from the battlefield. With methodical precision, he maneuvered through enemy ranks and withdrew to allied lines, readying the teleportation sequence. Meanwhile, Qin Mo armed himself, a chainsword and a force staff, before stepping onto the designated teleportation zone. His voice, filled with cold fury, rang through the control system: "Send me to the center of the hive spires peak, immediately. Ive had enough of these warp-tainted filth meddling with sorcery!" .... Within the towering remnants of the Governors Palace, once a bastion of Imperial might, its adamantium walls had been crafted to withstand orbital bombardment. Now, they served as a sanctuary for something far fouler. A thrall, clad in blue robes of deep cerulean, moved with eerie purpose, guiding a twisted abomination deeper into the sanctum. It had once been a man. Now, it was Venomfang, a writhing Chaos Spawn, its flesh a grotesque amalgamation of claws, tendrils, and gaping maws that whispered blasphemies in tongues long forgotten. Its form pulsed with unnatural vitality, shifting in ways that defied the laws of realspace, a living testament to the Architect of Fates cruel artistry. The thrall did not flinch at the beasts gibbering howls. This was its fate. A fitting end for a would-be champion of Chaos. Pausing beside the shattered remnants of a vox-relay, the thrall swiftly reassembled its components and activated the transmission. "Prepare for extraction. Once the Governors warship arrives, we leave." The response was immediate, a sibilant voice resonating through the relay. "Understood. For the Architect of Fate!" Far above, beyond the choking smog of the hive spires, a transport vessel was already burning through the stratosphere, its course set for the palaces ruined pinnacle. The thrall exhaled, watching patiently before turning his gaze back to his captive. The Venomfang thrashed violently, its massive form trembling against the reinforced flooring as it struggled against unseen chains. Calm yourself, the thrall said. Your suffering is temporary. Once our grand design reaches fruition, you will be free. His voice was almost soothing, a mockery of genuine compassion. Of course, the creature could not comprehend. It had no mind left to grasp the intricacies of fate. It only knew pain. And yet, it continued to struggleblind, desperate, and utterly futile. The thrall permitted himself a smile. The design was intact. Escape was secured. The operation continued. .... Then, the air shimmered. A distortion of reality tore through the spires courtyard, a rift in realspace splitting existence itself. From the thralls peripheral vision, a second tear formed, this one manifesting at the edge of the garden, where a once-proud ebonwood tree stood, now twisted and petrified by warp exposure. The rift birthed a figure, its form emerging as though it had been there all along, unseen by lesser eyes. The thrall turned, his breath catching in his throat like a vice. His soul recoiled before his mind could react. From the first rift, a warrior stepped forth. Black as the void, his power armor gleamed beneath the dim lumen-strips, edged with golden filigree, its craftsmanship beyond mortal means. His every movement radiated restrained lethality. The mere sight of him sent waves of agony lancing through the thralls body. His presence was , anathema to all things touched by the warp. From the second, a phantom strode forth, his form phasing through solid matter as if the laws of physics themselves were beneath him. Chainsword and staff in hand, he moved with the eerie grace of something not entirely bound by reality. His every step exuded unyielding, barely restrained fury. Even the thrall, well-versed in the occult, found the sight incomprehensible. "This this is impossible" The wraith-like figure advanced, the echo of his footfalls reverberating through the chamber, as if the fortress itself recoiled from his presence. The temperature dropped. The lights dimmed. Even the warp-saturated air began to thin, like the immaterium itself had withdrawn. The thralls mind raced, should he flee, or was there still a chance to act? One was a , untouchable by the warp. The other phased through reality like a specter. Sar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This was not a battle he could win. His gaze flickered to the Venomfang, its chaotic mass quivering, sensing its tormentors sudden distress. A desperate gambit formed in the thralls mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Spawn could buy him the time he needed to escape. It would interfere with his grand plan, but his survival was part of the plan, too. The towering Chaos Spawn shrieked, its flesh warping further in anticipation of battle, mindless rage burning in its countless eyes. As the thrall deliberated, the warriors converged. Qin Mo and Yoan advanced, striding toward the fortress entrance without hesitation, as if the monolithic structure before them were no more significant than a childs sandcastle. "Yoan, cover my flank." Qin Mo commanded. Lightning danced at Qin Mos fingertips, crackling arcs splitting the air as he raised his hand toward the fortress walls. Yoan, witnessing Qin Mos attack for the first time, instinctively activated his , slowing time within his perception just to the divine wrath unfolding before him. The thrall barely had time to react before screamed in protest. A lance of pure, energy tore through the air, bypassing mundane matter as though it were naught but mist. Adamantium buckled. Ceramite shattered. The entire fortress detonated in an incandescent storm. A cataclysmic burst of white-hot destruction erupted outward, tendrils of crackling lightning lashing through the void, the sheer force of the blast consuming everything within its reach. Windows shattered. Support beams liquefied into molten slag. Walls once thought impregnable were unmade in an instant. Metal was ripped from stone. The shockwave through the district, vaporizing everything in its wake. The residual energy alone sent waves of crackling lightning coursing through the very air of the hive spires peak. And within seconds, there was no stronghold left to speak of. Only smoldering ruin. Yoan, witness to destruction bordering on divine wrath, stood in stunned silence, his mind struggling to process the aftermath. was not mere firepower. This was something beyond mortal understanding. His auspex confirmed what his eyes already knew. There were no survivors. "Move." Qin Mos voice cut through the storm of debris, unshaken. "Y-yes, my lord. Yoan forced himself back to reality, his sensors still scanning the aftermath out of habit. They confirmed what both warriors already knew. There were none. Only silence. Only ashes. The enemy had been utterly annihilated. Chapter 86: Tracing the Echoes of the Past "Now, lets see whos been playing sorcerer at the spire," Qin Mo muttered, raising his staff and tapping it lightly against the ground. In an instant, the shattered ruins of the structure were restored to their original form. Stone groaned in reverse, dust coalesced into marble, and the massive, fortified walls once again loomed before them, standing as if they had never been destroyed. Yoan could hardly believe his eyes. He had seen the building reduced to rubble with his own eyes, yet now, it was whole again. Shocked, he reached out to touch the wall, only to find that his hand passed straight through it. It was as if he had stepped into a reality where the fundamental laws of physics had been utterly warped. "This is only a projection of the past, not a true reconstruction. You wont be able to touch anything," Qin Mo explained. "This is the effect of Trace Recollection." Trace Recollection was an ability Qin Mo had instinctively mastered as his connection to the power of the Ctan deepened. To the eyes of a Star God, the timeline of the material universe was a visible thread. They could perceive the movement of every particle that had ever existed, and by isolating and manifesting the echoes left along the time stream, they could reconstruct a scene exactly as it had appeared in the past. Like now. But even this ability has its vulnerabilities, the chaotic energies of the Immatrium can disrupt the boundaries between past, present, and future, and a being imbued with the same primordial essence as the Ctan can alter the very fabric of the time stream. "Follow me," Qin Mo commanded, striding forward through the spectral walls of the recalled past, stepping into the building''s interior. Yoan quickly followed. The two of them moved through the structure, unbound by the normal constraints of the physical world. They did not need to use doors or climb staircases; every wall, every object was intangible, allowing them to pass through freely. Yet, if Qin Mo willed it, these ghostly structures could solidify with thought, becoming temporary barriers in this memory-space. For Yoan, this was an utterly surreal experience. If he had to sum up his emotions in four words, they would be: "To walk with gods." As they explored deeper into the recalled past, passing through yet another wall, both men suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. Before them lay a room. Inside stood a man and a... thing. The man was a decrepit figure, his body marred by countless wounds, while the entity beside him defied all mortal description. "What the hell is that?" Yoan whispered, his gaze fixed upon the abomination. It was a writhing mass of sinewy limbs and leering maws, each appendage lined with unblinking eyes and jagged, fanged maws. Some of its tentacle-like limbs twisted and coiled unnaturally, as if reality itself struggled to contain their existence. The grotesque, mind-warping horror sent a chill down Yoans spine. "A Chaos Spawn," Qin Mo stated flatly. "And that is?" Yoan asked, barely suppressing the urge to retch. The only reason he hadnt lost his lunch was that he refused to look weak in front of Qin Mo. Qin Mo kept his gaze fixed on the creature, now understanding why he had felt such a strong disturbance earlier. A Chaos Spawn, here, in the depths of the Hive, this was far more revolting than a hundred rogue psykers running loose. "Can it be killed?" Yoan asked. "Easily. In fact, if left alone, it will eventually self-destruct. These aberrations are inherently unstable... but do not engage it in melee. Its blood is highly dangerous," Qin Mo warned. "A single drop can melt ceramite. Imagine what it would do to you." Should such abominations begin to infest the Talon Sector in greater numbers, Yoan would have to assist in purging them. Not every Chaos Spawn would be fortunate enough to meet a swift death by lightning. "What was it before it became that?" Yoan asked. "A heretic," Qin Mo replied, shifting his gaze from the Spawn to the old man beside it. The old mans eyes were wide with terror as he stared out the window, his face contorted in disbelief. Feathers protruded slightly from his shoulders, and strange, spiraling blue markings covered his skin. Qin Mo immediately recognized what this meant, the wretched old man was a servant of Tzeentch. As for how the Chaos Spawn had come to be, and why it hadnt attacked its creator, that would require further investigation. "Resume flow," Qin Mo commanded. Time within the recalled scene resumed its natural course. The once-frozen Chaos Spawn and the old heretic began to move again. The heretic muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on something outside. Then, a crackling bolt of lightning arced through the wall, detonating upon impact. A storm of raw energy engulfed the room, instantly reducing both man and monster to ash. "Well, that settles it. Theyre dead," Yoan remarked. "Indeed," Qin Mo nodded in agreement. Then, with a flick of his hand, the Trace Recollection sequence reversed, rewinding time like a playback reel, revealing all that had transpired before. There were still many questions left unanswered. .... For half a Terran day, Qin Mo remained at the spire, continuously using his ability to comb through the past, scrutinizing every event that had unfolded here. At the peak of the Hive Spire, a lost moment in history replayed itself, tracing back to a time before the Chaos Spawn had been born, even before the war had begun. As Venomfang and his lackey conspired together, Qin Mo and Yoan stood beside them, silent observers of a past long gone. Gradually, Qin Mo pieced together the full story. The Chaos Spawn had once been Venomfang, a Chaos-aligned warlord serving as the enemy''s general. The old man had been his slave and attendant. Master and servant, both had their own schemes. One sought to use the war to gain power and forbidden knowledge, while the other planned to exploit his master''s ambition for an even greater purpose. A plot within a plot, so typical of Tzeentch''s designs. There was no point in asking why. In the grand game of Chaos, everything was part of the plan. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But there was still one mystery left to answer: what had happened to the nobles of the Upper Hive? Through Trace Recollection, Qin Mo witnessed the truth. The nobles had been systematically sacrificed in waves. Venomfang had personally addressed each group, convincing them that they were being rescued, guiding them into vast pens lined with profane sigils and blasphemous wards. To Qin Mo, they were nothing but cages, scrawled with accursed runes. But the deceived fools walked in smiling. No doubt, the cages had been disguised. To them, they must have seemed like transport shuttles, promising escape from the horrors of the Underhive. As Qin Mo continued to observe each ritual, he caught an interesting detail. During the first sacrifice, an old man in one of the cages muttered a bitter complaint: "That bastard Klein came back for nothing. He could have at least warned us about the First Legions rebellion." That old man was clearly Kleins kin. Without hesitation, Qin Mo activated the recording function in his power armor, capturing the scene in perfect clarity. Klein would no doubt want to know what had happened to his family. When Qin Mo had gathered all the intelligence he needed and was preparing to return to the Underhive, he turned to Yoan with a final command. "Once the Upper Hive falls under our control, the spire will be cleansed by orbital bombardment. Everything you saw today is a glimpse of what you will face in the future. This is the duty I have planned for you. But it must remain a secret. Understood?" As he spoke, Qin Mo removed his helmet, letting Yoan see the absolute seriousness in his expression. Yoan immediately grasped the gravity of the situation and made his oath: "I will never speak of this to anyone but you. I swear it upon the God-Emperor." "Good." Qin Mo clapped Yoan on the shoulder, then stepped back, activating his teleport beacon. In a flash of light, he was gone, transported back to the Underhive. Yoan, meanwhile, found himself back on the battlefield of the Upper Hive, resuming his war. Chapter 87: Deserved Fate The battle for the Upper Hive raged on beneath a sky choked with ash and smoke. The soldiers of the First Legion, wholly focused on the war effort, remained unaware of the grim revelations unfolding at the spire. This was total war. Regiment 47, under Kleins command, had no reason to remain behind guarding the fortress in the Underhive, such caution was deemed unnecessary. Instead, they had joined the offensive, driving deep into enemy lines with unrelenting force. Now, in a district on the eastern edge of the Upper Hive, Klein sat inside a modified Leman Russ battle tank, commanding the battle while keeping his eyes locked on the cracked ferrocrete roadway stretching ahead. The enemy was breaking; their cohesion shattered. Many had begun a desperate retreat, abandoning fortified positions to vanish into the smog-drenched labyrinth of the hive city. But a few fanatics, realizing their inevitable demise, chose to make a desperate last stand, strapping explosives to their bodies and launching suicidal charges. .... Klein noticed a sudden drop in return fire from their forward position. Then, scattered enemy figures emerged from the trenches and buildings, unclipping smoke grenades from their belts and hurling them forward. Thick clouds of phosphorescent smoke erupted, rapidly blanketing the narrow streets in an opaque haze that shimmered under the glow of burning debris. "Switch to thermals, now." Kleins command was swift, though unnecessary. The veterans of Regiment 47 had already activated their Praetorian-pattern helmet optics. Augur arrays dissected the battlefield in seconds, rendering the enemys smoke screen completely useless. The enemys smoke cover was utterly ineffective. Rather than concealing them, it only made their glowing heat signatures stand out more vividly against the haze. Oblivious to this, the enemy fighters burst from cover, each burdened with an array of explosives. Some carried melta bombs, others had bundles of grenades lashed together, while a few simply bore sacks brimming with volatile powder charges. "Purge them" Klein commanded. The grav-shield drones deactivated their protective barriers momentarily, allowing an uninterrupted barrage. Lasguns flared in synchronized volleys, the main cannon of the Leman Russ roared, and the heavy bolters mounted on the tank''s sponsons raked the enemy with thunderous precision. The enemy fell in waves. Bodies tumbled to the ground or were outright vaporized by heavy weapons fire. Their explosives detonated upon impact, triggering violent secondary explosions that shook the ground beneath them. The deafening blasts would have rendered any unprotected soldier instantly deaf, but the advanced filtering systems of the Praetorian-pattern power armor negated the concussive noise. Meanwhile, the grav-shields, now reactivated, hummed faintly as they deflected the lethal storm of shrapnel and debris. "Push forward. No delays." Kleins voice cut through the vox-network. Regiment 47 engaged bio-scanners and pushed forward, swiftly reaching the enemy''s former defensive line. The fortifications lay at the heart of the district, a jumbled fortress of shattered barricades and heavy weapon emplacements within once grand buildings, opulent structures of the Upper Hive elite were now little more than charred husks and bullet-ridden shells. But none of it mattered. Klein paid little attention to the remnants of enemy defenses. His focus was elsewhere. As his Leman Russ hover-skirted over debris, gliding smoothly atop the rubble-strewn road, his eyes locked onto a grand, half-demolished mansion ahead. Half of it had been obliterated by artillery fire. Its marble fa?ade was cracked open like a split skull, spilling luxury into ruin. "Check it. See if there are any survivors inside," Klein instructed his soldiers. "Sir, bio-scanners show" "Go check. Now" The troopers hesitated. The scanners indicated no living presence other than their own, but he noticed something off about Kleins demeanor. Without questioning further, he proceeded into the ruins to conduct a manual inspection. The result was unsurprising. "Report: No survivors found inside, sir. Only enemy corpses in whats left of the bedrooms and kitchen." "Hah" Klein let out a slow exhale, heavy with something deeper than fatigue. Hearing the confirmation that there were no civilian casualties, he allowed himself a moment of relief. "If there are no civilian bodies, that means they must have escaped, right?" His tank crew exchanged uneasy glances. Unlike the rest of the soldiers outside, they knew the truth, this mansion had once been Kleins family estate. Before Klein could say anything else, a holographic projection of Qin Mo appeared on the command interface before him. Klein immediately straightened, saluting as best as he could within the confines of the tank. "Lord Commander." he acknowledged. "I found something at the spire," Qin Mo stated. "Something concerning your family." Kleins heart sank. "Im not sure if youre ready to hear it," Qin Mo added. Klein clenched his fists. He already knew what was coming. He didnt need unnecessary details, just a single answer. "Are they alive?" he asked. Qin Mo tapped the air a few times. A data-feed streamed directly into Kleins visor. A silent, unspoken confirmation. Klein watched. His grandfather, along with other family members, was herded into a cage. Their expressions were calm at first, almost relieved, as if salvation was at hand. sea??h th N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Then, realization dawned. Their faces contorted in terror as they grasped the truth, their "sanctuary" was a prison. Fire ignited the air, unnatural and hungry. The flames shifted from orange to an eerie blue, consuming everything. Within seconds, everyone in the cage had been reduced to ashes. Kleins body trembled. His mouth opened, he wanted to scream, to cry out, to say something, but no words came. Only a faint, strangled whimper escaped his throat. His breath grew erratic, his hands clenched so tightly that his gloves strained against his fingers. His rage, his sorrow, both flared, then collapsed inward, leaving only emptiness. His expression became blank. "Exit the tank and prepare for teleportation. Transfer your command to your second-in-command," Qin Mo instructed. "If you wish to speak, I will be waiting in the fortress tunnels." Kleins empty gaze flickered, and then "They deserved it." he whispered coldly. The tank crew stiffened. "Why didnt they listen to me?" His voice was sharp, bitter. "Why didnt they come with me to the Underhive? Those short-sighted fools deserved this fate!" The frustration boiled over. Klein had warned them. During the pre-war standoff, he had personally returned to his family estate, urging all of them to evacuate to New Kato. His family wasnt like the parasitic aristocracy that infested the Upper Hive. They were leaders, generals trained in military academies, engineers skilled in grand construction. New Kato had room for minds like theirs. And yet, none of them listened. Klein had grieved for them as a son and grandson. But now, as a soldier, he saw it for what it was: They had been given a choice. They refused. And they paid the price. "Are you certain you can still command?" Qin Mo asked. "I am certain," Klein answered, his tone disturbingly calm. Qin Mo believed him. Klein was not one to let emotion dictate his actions. There was no need for further interference. "Then keep fighting," Qin Mo said, terminating the transmission. Klein immediately resumed command. His hands moved over the scanning console, expanding the bio-scanner range. He needed full visibility on both friendly and enemy positions. "All units, continue advancing. Remember the protocol: in urban warfare, the bio-scanner must always move ahead of us," he ordered. Regiment 47 pressed forward. With bio-scanners active, they swept the streets, securing the next objective. Enemy fire teams hidden in buildings were swiftly detected, long before they could ambush the advancing forces. And then, in the blink of an eye, the Thunderborns struck. Appearing from seemingly nowhere, they smashed through entire structures, pulverizing entrenched defenders before they could react. As the main force advanced, artillery preemptively reduced enemy fortifications to rubble. Even without the luxury of teleportation strikes, the First Legion remained an unstoppable force. Chapter 88: A Miracle of Engineering In less than a month since the war had begun, the enemy forces in the Upper Hive had been crushed. Yet, the conflict was far from over. The remnants of the defeated forces, those who had broken and fled, found themselves trapped. With no means of escaping the Hive World, they had no choice but to hide in the vast, labyrinthine, and foul-smelling sewer systems beneath the Upper Hive. Upon hearing or witnessing how their comrades who had chosen to stand and fight were summarily executed, these fugitives realized that surrender was not an option. Left with no alternatives, they turned to guerrilla warfare in the sewers. But they were not the masters of those depths. The sewers were already home to other factions. Some were disgraced noble families, once powerful in the Upper Hive, now driven underground by political struggles. Refusing to descend further into the Underhive, they had settled in the sewers, carving out hidden, baroque enclaves amid crumbling masonry and rusting pipes over generations. Others were isolated loyalists, Upper Hive citizens who had refused to follow Venomfang when he seized control. Along with their servants and family members, they had formed resistance cells, waging a desperate battle in the depths, completely cut off, their vox-lines long dead, unaware that the First Legion had already reclaimed the Upper Hive and that Venomfangs reign was over. With three different factions fighting for survival, violent skirmishes erupted constantly. And now, the Thunderborns and the First Legion had begun their own incursions into the sewer networks, adding yet another deadly force to the chaos. Plasma bursts and lasgun fire lit up the tunnels like mock daylight, while promethium flames roared through narrow passageways, purging anything that moved. The sewers were not a singular network but an interwoven maze of tunnels, a byproduct of centuries of decay and expansion. Over thousands of years, as the original sewer systems fell into disrepair, new tunnels had been haphazardly added. Many of these ancient sewage lines had even become linked with the massive, decaying pipeways of the Underhive, effectively forming an entire hidden city wedged between the Upper and Lower Hives. Collapsed sections, forgotten vaults, and ancient service tunnels honeycombed the area, making navigation a nightmare even for those who lived there. While every force was focused on the ongoing purge of the sewers, no one had yet realized that a new threat had just arrived outside the Hive World. .... Beyond the atmosphere of Talon I, a Lunar-class cruiser drifted silently in orbit. This warship had taken minor damage during the orbital bombardment of Talon III, its hull scorched by surface-to-orbit defense weapons. But the damage was negligible; if its captain willed it, the cruisers macro batteries and lance arrays could still reduce the Hive below to ashes from orbit, vaporizing entire districts in one decisive strike. On the bridge, the ships captain sat upon his golden throne, gazing out at the planet before him. The Hive Spire was clearly visible against the barren landscape. Aside from this monolithic city, the rest of the planet was a desolate wasteland, either lifeless deserts or frozen tundra. Pale sunlight barely kissed the planets surface, reflecting weakly off the ice fields that ringed the equator. "Weve lost contact with the Lord Marshal," reported the communications officer, stepping forward with a grim expression. The captain did not turn his gaze from the planet. "He has three minutes to respond," he said coldly. "If he fails to do so I will throw every soldier aboard this ship onto the surface myself." The officer gave a silent nod and hurried away to continue attempting contact with Venomfang. At that moment, none aboard the cruiser knew the truth, that Venomfang had been transformed into a Chaos Spawn by his own servant and subsequently obliterated. This warship had only been assigned a logistical role, a duty far beneath its power. It was merely here to transport regiments of PDF forces assigned to Venomfang by the Planetary Governor. Time passed. .... Half a day later, there was still no response. The communications officer was forced to return to the captain to deliver the bad news. But as he approached, he noticed something strange. The bridge lights were dimmed, casting long shadows over the cogitator banks, and the captain was staring, wide-eyed, through the massive viewing window, utterly transfixed. The officer turned to look. His reaction mirrored the captains exactly. The cruiser had now moved into the planets dark side, and there, suspended in orbit, was a black satellite. "Somethings in the void," the captain murmured. "I was born on Talon I. I know its skies. And there has never been a second moon." "Perhaps it isnt a moon?" the officer suggested hesitantly. The crew began to gather around the viewing windows, staring in silent awe. The object was colossal, yet smaller than the planets natural satellite. Its surface was metallic, not dust-covered, and under the dim glow of the distant star, it shimmered faintly. At first, many assumed it was some kind of space station. But as they continued to observe it, they realized the truth. This was no natural formation. It was an engineering miracle. It was majestic, almost holy, as if some divine architect had crafted it and placed it in the heavens, a structure meant to inspire awe in those who looked upon it. Its profile invoked something ancient, something primal, as if it had been waiting there, patient, for millennia. There was no doubt now, this was an artificial construct. But what was its purpose? Was it a space station? A fortress? Something else entirely? "Fire upon it," the captain ordered, his voice tight. "Sir, why?" the officer inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "It doesnt appear to be hostile." Doubt filled the bridge. To them, the station was a monument, a colossal relic of an unknown age. It radiated power and mystery. It could belong to anyone. "Attack it," the captain repeated, his knuckles white on the armrests. "We may not be able to destroy it, but we must test it. We must know what it is." Though many were reluctant, they obeyed. The cruiser adjusted its trajectory, rotating so that its broadside macrocannons could be brought to bear. Meanwhile, from the prow, two plasma warhead torpedoes were fired, streaking toward the silent behemoth. Inside the ship, the gunners manually loaded the macrocannons, adjusting their sights. The decks rumbled as the weapons powered up, the machine-spirits within growling with anticipation. The ship finished its turn. Then, fire. The captain stood, stepping toward the window, his breath fogging faintly on the armored glass, tension crackling in the air. All eyes were on the torpedoes, streaking toward their target. Then One torpedos flight path abruptly twisted. It spun wildly in the void, looping three times before vanishing into nothingness, as if it had ceased to exist. No explosion, no wreckage, simply gone, as if plucked from reality. "What in the Emperors name?" the captain whispered. Before they could process what had just happened, the second torpedo struck, or rather, detonated ten kilometers away from the satellite, as if repelled by an unseen force. For a brief moment, a vast energy barrier flickered into visibility, shielding the station. And it was not a void shield. Then, the macrocannon rounds arrived, only to suffer the same fate. S~ea??h the Novl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Two shells vanished mid-flight, inexplicably erased from existence. The rest struck the shield, explosions blossomed, but the barrier remained intact. The captains gut twisted. "It has more than just shields," he muttered. "Theres something else something interfering with our weapons. But its unstable. Flawed. That system is barely functional." Then, the station reacted. It stopped spinning and began rotating in the opposite direction, aligning its surface weapon emplacements. A massive cannon locked onto the cruiser. Then, as suddenly as it had moved, it came to a complete standstill. A glowing crimson energy sphere began to coalesce within its enormous barrel. At first, it seemed small. But considering the distance, its proportions were nothing short of monstrous. The void around it rippled and bent, unnatural gravities warping space itself. "Full retreat! Hard turn! Get us out of here!" the captain bellowed, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a blade. Chapter 89: The Ash of the Fallen As the warship turned to retreat, the stations heavy cannon spat forth a blazing lance of energy, its incandescent beam so intense it momentarily outshone the stars. But the crackling Void Shields of the Lunar-class cruiser flared to life, casting fractured, prismatic light across its armored hull as the weapons searing force slammed into the etheric barrier. The attacks fury was redistributed through subspace conduits, diverted into the Warp with a howling thunderclap of displaced energy. A standard Lunar-class Void Shield could absorb multiple gigaton-level impacts, enough energy to vaporize a city before overloading. But this was no standard barrage. Internally, the shield grid vibrated with a rising whine as the energy matrix strained under the load, each roaring terajoule of plasma painstakingly converted into harmless field excitation. The shields capacitors flared with an unnatural blue in the ships engineering sanctum, venting heat through colossal plasma sinks as machine-spirits labored to maintain cohesion with anxious flickers of warning runes across cogitator screens. The ship''s artificial gravities buckled momentarily under the impact, but behind the screen of etheric force, its bulk remained unscathed, the structural braces groaning as the hull plating resisted deformation with stubborn resilience. A second blast followed, again intercepted by the Void Shields. The shield bubble shimmered visibly, like a soap film struck by a hammer of light, each pulse sending ripples through the surrounding void like disturbed oil on water. The station continued firing, while the cruiser kept maneuvering away. Energy lances stitched fiery scars across the shielded void, each impact louder and closer than the last. After enduring seven consecutive strikes, the Void Shields finally collapsed in a coruscating cascade of white-hot technoplasmic discharge, momentarily exposing the ships vulnerable hull to the cold void of space. The eighth blast tore through the left flank of the vessel, ripping from stern to bow. Armor plating vaporized in an instant, and with it, every weapon emplacement along that section was reduced to little more than slag drifting through the void. Chunks of glowing debris spun outward, trailing vaporized ceramite and venting atmosphere, forming a temporary halo of wreckage around the wounded cruiser. Inside the bridge, the crew felt the ship tremble violently, the decks shuddering as the secondary detonations from breached ammo magazines echoed through the corridors. Red emergency lumen-strips flared to life, bathing the control deck in a blood-hued glow, their light casting long, twitching shadows across the grim faces of the command crew. Explosions rippled through the lower decks, each rupture a stark reminder that, without the Void Shields, even the stoutest hull was as brittle as glass. The captain immediately barked a series of orders: "Seal off compromised sections and vent them into vacuum to extinguish fires." Reinitialize Void Shields as quickly as possible, reroute all auxiliary power to the warp reactor! Thats our only hope to reboot them before the next barrage. Disperse personnel and servitors throughout the ship to minimize casualties from potential secondary strikes; section leaders, report evacuation status within 30 seconds! Above all else, prepare for Warp transit. NOW! I want that drive primed and screaming by the time we hit minimum safe distance! The warship continued its desperate flight, enduring the barrage of energy lances, until all preparations were complete. Each new impact bloomed across the hull like silent nova flares, shaking the vessel but failing to break its resolve. An officer at the comms station turned. Shield emitters are flickering back online. Subspace capacitors are charging! Finally, with preparations complete, the ship''s warp drives roared to life. A low-frequency hum grew into a deafening roar as the Gellar Field and Void Shield generators synchronized, enveloping the vessel in twin layers of defense against the dangers of realspace and the Immaterium. Reality itself tore asunder as the Gellar Field surged, enveloping the vessel in a protective cocoon against the unspeakable horrors of the Immaterium. In a final burst of etheric energy, the cruiser vanished into the Warp, slipping beyond the stations reach. Back in orbit, the stations cannon ceased its fire, its targeting systems resetting as the last echoes of the Void Shield resonance faded. The glowing energy dissipated. Its structure continued its silent rotation, as if it had never been attacked, or had never struck at all. .... [Detected incoming hostile vessel. Initiating defensive protocols.] [Particle lances charging] [Charging complete.] [First volley fired. Damage assessment: intercepted by Void Shields.] "" Deep within the fortress tunnels, Qin Mo sat in quiet contemplation, watching a recording of the battle unfold on his display. The footage was from the orbital shipyard, captured from its primary control systems. It showed the exact moment the enemy vessel engaged, detailing the stations automated defensive response. The primary defense system, a smaller-scale particle lance, had been installed primarily for surface-to-orbit counterstrikes, not prolonged ship-to-ship warfare. The stations shield was an entirely different technology from standard Void Shields, utilizing a unique energy barrier. However, one anomaly caught Qin Mos attention. During the enemys only offensive action, one torpedo and two macrocannon shells had vanished mid-flight. As if something had simply erased them from existence. There had been no impact signature, no electromagnetic disruption, not even a gravitational lensing anomaly; just sudden, inexplicable absence. It was almost like... a hidden countermeasure system was triggered, he mused. The effect had been minimal, too inconsistent to be truly effective. It was clear that this phenomenon had little impact on the overall battle. But the real problem was this: Qin Mo had no recollection of installing any system capable of making enemy attacks simply disappear. ["I detected a Warp anomaly before the shield activated,"] the stations AI core stated. "A Warp anomaly? Could it be the sanctified ash of the Fallen?" Qin Mo laughed. ["Possibly,"] the AI core responded. ["Across New Kato and the Lowerhive, the daily ritual of honoring the Fallen has become a widespread practice."] Qin Mo fell silent, deep in thought. Could it really be the memorialized ashes of the dead at work? If so, their effect remained minuscule, only nullifying a handful of attacks. Even if this phenomenon evolved over the next decades, its impact would likely remain limited. But even the smallest advantage was worth acknowledging. .... "How is the shipbuilding progressing?" Qin Mo inquired. ["Frigate production is at 30%. Cruiser construction has reached 20%. Based on current rates, estimated completion is seventy hours ahead of schedule,"] the AI core reported. Qin Mo nodded in approval. As soon as the ships were ready, an assault on Talon II could begin. Once launched, the orbital shipyard could be equipped with planetary bombardment weapons and teleported into Talon IIs orbit, enabling the conquest of an entire world, which would be far easier than reclaiming Talon I. Satisfied, Qin Mo turned his focus back to the development of a planetary-scale extermination weapon, one that could wipe out every remaining enemy on Talon III. Destroying the planet was not an option, not when there were only three habitable worlds in the Talon system, and this one needed to be preserved. ["The crew selection process is nearly complete,"] the AI core added. ["One candidate stands out: Adam, age 34. He ranked among the top in every test. His psychological stability is exceptional, making him an ideal warship operator. He is impervious to emotional instability, ensuring optimal efficiency in high-pressure combat scenarios."] "Begin his training immediately. I want them ready to command the ships the moment they launch." ["Understood."] .... At the Mechanized Repair Facility, the technicians and workers huddled around a data terminal, eagerly watching the latest war updates. News of the orbital shipyard repelling a Lunar-class cruiser had yet to spread, but the ongoing victories in the Upper Hive sewer war were enough to lift everyone''s spirits. Among them was Grot, who clenched his fist and cheered along with the others, though he quickly suppressed his excitement. "Grot, someones looking for you," a coworker tapped his shoulder, gesturing toward the factory entrance. A stern-faced officer stood at the doorway, silent and motionless, his gaze cold and unyielding. Sarch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He wasnt wearing power armor, but a combat uniform, sleek and angular, unmistakably military. "Adam!" Grot immediately recognized him. The officers expression didnt change. "Good afternoon, Grot," he greeted, his voice devoid of warmth. The two had known each other for some time. Whenever Adam had free time, he would visit the factory, offering specialized training to Grot. That training had one purpose: teaching Grot how to control his emotions. As they stepped outside, Adam spoke without preamble: "After today, another will take my place to continue your training." "Where are you going? Did the Lord Commander form another new unit?" Grot asked, puzzled. "I have been chosen by the Angel to serve as a warship crewman. My training begins soon." Grots eyes widened. Being selected for a warship crew was an incredible honor. "Thats amazing!" he said earnestly. But Adam remained expressionless, delivering the news with mechanical detachment. It was typical of those among the Devotees of the Angel of Creation, individuals like Adam suppressed their emotions and desires, abandoning all personal indulgences. Grot had even heard rumors that some of them would sneak out of mandatory leisure sessions, instead choosing to observe and study combat logistics. "I still dont understand," Grot admitted. "Why are you training me?" Adams response was as cold as ever. "Because you were once a Thunderborn, One of His mortal emissaries. But you lost your place among them, for you are too distant from His Divine Will. Yet, you are not beyond redemption." Grot lowered his gaze. Redemption. He had never given voice to the thought, never admitted how much the loss of his former standing had weighed upon him. He had told himself he didnt care, that factory work was enough, that survival was all that mattered. But it wasnt. He was reluctant to associate with the Devotees, but he was willing to do whatever it took to reclaim his place as a Thunderborn, or at least as a soldier once more. Anything was better than wasting away in a factory. "Our studies of your past behavior indicate that you become excessively excitable in combat," Adam continued. "You lack restraint. You allow emotion to dictate your actions." A pause. "This flaw can be corrected." Grot exhaled slowly. "How?" "We have prepared a facility and a specialized training regimen to temper your deficiencies." "Fine. Take me there." Without hesitation, Grot followed Adam into the unknown, each step carrying him further from his old life and closer to the war that would define his fate. Chapter 90: Seems Like You Were Right Ten Minutes Later "That''s it? I''m a veteran. You lot don''t stand a chance." Inside a half-collapsed, ruined bunker, its rebar-veined walls scorched and sagging under centuries of war, Grot wielded a metal rod, its surface marred with dents and blackened scuffs, a silent testament to countless clashes. He moved like a prowling beast, each step deliberate, every pivot precise, weaving through six opponents. With superior skill and experience, he dodged their strikes effortlessly, counterattacking with brutal, surgical precision. One by one, his opponents fell; some dropping their weapons, others forced to a knee as blows struck their limbs. Even without wearing power armor, Grot was a true warrior. His sweat-slicked muscles rippled beneath a patchwork of scars, moving with the lethal grace of someone who had survived a hundred battlefields. That much was undeniable. "Is this the best you Devotees have? You fight worse than the Planetary Defense Force grunts! No matter how fanatical you are, you''d be useless on a real battlefield." He planted the rod into the ground, its worn metal tip biting into the cracked ferrocrete with a grinding crunch, glaring down at the defeated six, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline, the fire of pride and anticipation burning in his eyes. From the sidelines, Adam watched in silence. This wasn''t his first time witnessing Grot in battle. The former Thunderborns-in-training had made great strides in controlling his emotions; during meditation, during drills, even during punishment sessions. But in battle, all restraint evaporated. Here, he always lost himself. It reminded Adam of the Heresy of the Champion of Blood, a tale of warriors who had succumbed to their bloodlust, abandoning reason for slaughter. Adam still didn''t know the exact reason Grot had been expelled from the Thunderborns, but he was certain it was related to this raw, unrelenting enjoyment of combat. Stepping forward, Adam picked up a discarded metal rod. "Let me try." Grot''s grin widened, feral and wolfish, a gleam of eagerness igniting behind his eyes. "Finally! I''ve been wondering if you could actually fight." He lunged forward, attempting to slam his shoulder into Adam''s chest. Adam did not dodge. He met Grot''s charge head-on. Despite his stoic demeanor, Adam was as strong as Grot, if not stronger, and far faster. The collision sent Grot staggering backward, boots scraping against the debris-strewn floor, eyes wide with shock at Adam''s raw power. Adam had barely shifted, absorbing the blow without effort. Before he could recover, Adam grabbed his collar, pulling him back. Then drove a fist straight into his face. "CRACK!" Grot hit the ground hard, a sharp grunt escaping his lips as his back slammed into broken stone. He stared up at the dimly flickering ceiling lights, dazed for a moment before shaking off the impact. Rising swiftly, he charged again, this time aiming to smash his forehead against Adam''s skull. Adam took the hit. Now, he was the one on the ground. He stayed there for a moment, then calmly got up, expression unchanged. Like nothing had happened. "You''re still calm after that?" Grot stared in disbelief. Adam was like a machine. The Devotees of the Angel aimed to strip away human weakness, to elevate themselves beyond base impulses. But even among them, few could maintain this level of detachment. "Thank you for your assistance, brothers," Adam said, turning to the six fallen trainees. They all simply shook their heads, then left, their eyes lowered in quiet respect. As soon as they were gone, Adam turned back to Grot, his tone low and deliberate. "You were once a Thunderborn. You should know more about the Champion of Blood Heresy than I do." Grot''s expression darkened. "I don''t just know about it. I lived through it." His eyes narrowed, the flicker of old pain crossing his features. "Why bring that up?" "You''re not a fool. You should understand why you were expelled from the Thunderborns," Adam replied. Grot''s brow furrowed. "You''re saying the Lord Commander expelled me because he feared I''d end up like my brother; Losing control, descending into a mindless slaughter?" Adam nodded firmly. Grot clicked his tongue in irritation. "Did you think I hadn''t figured that out already?" It was true. Grot had spent a long time reflecting on why he had been cast out. At first, he thought it was because of the vengeance he took in the gladiatorial pits. But that didn''t make sense. Qin Mo would have supported righteous retribution. That left only one other explanation: the Champion of Blood Heresy. After deep introspection, Grot realized the truth: He and his brother both loved battle. The only difference was that Grot didn''t kill the innocent. But why should that be a problem? What was wrong with enjoying combat? His anger simmered beneath the surface, like a furnace barely kept under control. Adam''s voice cut through his thoughts. "Was your brother truly a mindless butcher? Do you believe his rampage had a deeper cause?" He leaned in, his gaze unyielding. As a soldier, Adam knew the story of the Champion of Blood, but he didn''t know the man himself. He needed Grot''s perspective. So, Grot told him everything. The story began twenty-four years ago, a boy returned home to find his parents'' corpses. With his younger siblings in tow, he was forced to survive in the Lowerhive, fighting to stay alive. They scavenged among the refuse heaps where servitors dumped the hive''s waste, dodging hive gangers and mutant packs, living off scraps and stolen ration packs. Until he was forcibly enlisted in a war in the underhive. Sarch* The N?vel(F)ire.nt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His sibling, in his absence, was enslaved, thrown into the pits, and forced to kill for the amusement of others. Then years later, in those bloodstained arenas, he reunited with his long-lost brother. As Adam listened, the truth became clear. Grot''s brother wasn''t a monster. He had been a protector, a father figure to their younger sister, a man who always helped others. But he also loved battle. Sometimes, he even picked fights deliberately, but only against those who deserved it. "Something must have changed him," Grot muttered, his eyes distant. There was something he wasn''t saying. Adam noticed immediately. "What changed him?" he pressed. Grot hesitated. He knew the answer. The Champion of Blood statue. That cursed thing. But it had already been destroyed. Did Adam need to know about it? Grot decided to withhold that information. Adam continued his cold, analytical breakdown: "Your brother was turned into a pit slave and conditioned to be a gladiator. A killing spree would have been expected, but the fact that he slaughtered even other pit slaves; his fellow captives, that''s the anomaly." Grot nodded grimly. "The Lord Commander expelled you for a clear reason," Adam concluded. "He feared that one day, you might be influenced by the same unknown force, that your love for combat could be pushed to the extreme, leading you to slaughter your own without restraint." "Obvious enough," Grot muttered. They both fell silent, deep in thought. Something had caused his brother''s change. But what? Adam finally spoke. "Perhaps it''s genetic." Grot looked up sharply. "What?" "Your family may have inherited a genetic predisposition for bloodlust. At first, it manifests as a simple enjoyment of combat. But under extreme stress or trauma, it escalates into uncontrollable slaughter. If you had experienced exactly what your brother did, you might have ended up the same way, killing the weak without hesitation." Grot almost cursed him out, but stopped. Instead, he thought about it seriously. Until now, he had assumed the Champion of Blood Statue had been responsible. But could a mere statue have such an effect? There was only one God, the Emperor upon the Golden Throne. There was no such thing as a Champion of Blood. But a genetic flaw? That was plausible. Grot took a deep breath. After a long pause, he exhaled slowly and muttered: "Damn it... looks like you were right." Chapter 91: Beyond Saving "You''re beyond saving. Goodbye." Adam stood up abruptly. Grot stared at him in confusion. A moment ago, Adam had been talking about helping him. Now, he was walking away without hesitation, like a decision had crystallized in his mind, beyond question or empathy. "If it was just a matter of controlling your emotions, I could help you learn discipline," Adam said, his voice quiet but resolute. "But if it''s a genetic issue, then there''s nothing I can do. I can''t say for certain that your genes are flawed. It''s not a definitive conclusion. But unless you or I can come up with a better explanation" Adam laid it out clearly, each word precise, clinical in tone, as if detaching himself from the weight of his own words. Then, without another word, he turned and left, his boots echoing like hammerblows down the corridor''s steel floor. The so-called plan to rehabilitate a former Thunderborn? A chosen one? Grot? To hell with all of it. Adam realized that, as a mere mortal, his perception was too limited. He couldn''t see the true reasons behind certain decisions. Otherwise, he never would have wasted his time here, trying to save a man who was beyond salvation. A flicker of guilt passed through him, but he buried it beneath the weight of logic. Grot felt like he''d just been dumped. He stood up, watching Adam walk away without looking back. But instead of cursing him, Grot simply said: "I hope you make it through crew training and get to pilot that warship." Adam didn''t respond. He just kept walking. "Son of a" Grot muttered under his breath, then turned and left as well. .... In the following days, Grot continued his routine. During the day, he worked in the factory, repairing logistical "servitors" and listening to his coworkers discuss the latest war updates. In the evening, Grot acquired his nutrient-dense synth-food and visited his younger sister, Maya, sharing a meal with her. But one night, as they ate dinner, Maya suddenly stared at him and asked a question. "Why do you seem so out of it lately?" "Huh?" Grot blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. Sar?h the N?vel(F)ire.et website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Tell me, what does this food taste like?" she asked. Grot froze. Then, after a long pause, he shook his head. He hadn''t even noticed the taste. Synth-food looked like real meat and vegetables, but it was just nutrient matter pressed into edible form. Better than rations from drones, but only just. Maya''s expression darkened. "Just as I thought," she murmured. She changed the topic, trying to bring some life back into the conversation. "How''s the war going?" "Still fighting in the Upper Hive''s sewer systems. Some units have moved to the Spire, they bombarded the entire district to rubble first. Should be over soon," Grot replied, his voice flat. "So, that means ''Lord Commander'' is about to become ''Governor,'' huh?" Maya smiled. "From a grunt soldier to the ruler of a world. A legend in the making." Grot chuckled. "Of course." As a survivor of the original 44th Regiment, Grot knew that Qin Mo wasn''t even a soldier to begin with. He had been a prisoner in the Underhive''s deepest pits. With his power he could have escaped the Underhive anytime. But instead, he stayed behind, rescuing people, organizing defenses, leading the counterattack. Tyrone Hive was simply one of his rightful spoils. Maya, seeing her brother actually interested in a topic, continued. "I heard the Governor is planning to build multiple cities in the Lower Hive. The servitors have already begun construction." "When did this happen?" Grot was genuinely surprised. Building cities in the Lower Hive was far more difficult than in the Underhive. The sheer population density meant the "servitors" had to demolish existing structures before they could even begin. Millions of displaced citizens, ruined infrastructure, unstable terrain, it was a logistical nightmare. "I thought you''d already heard," Maya said, handing him a data slate with the official announcement. Grot read as he ate. Maya was right, construction had already begun. Residents in the affected areas were being temporarily relocated to New Kato. More importantly, Qin Mo hadn''t been focused solely on war. He had plans, many of them. City-building was just one part of a much larger vision. The announcement even mentioned Talon II. Apparently, faith in the so-called Lord of Wisdom had completely replaced the worship of the Emperor. This industrial world had openly turned traitor. A system-wide war was inevitable. Grot put the data slate down. "This war will be over soon." "Yeah," Maya nodded. "Talon II won''t be able to stop our counterattack." "Everything is getting better." Grot didn''t respond. He just stared down at his food. Everything was getting better. For everyone except him. Adam''s words echoed in his mind. Whether or not Adam was right, the fact remained: one day, Grot might become a lunatic, just like his brother. And now Maya had noticed something was wrong. Grot agreed. This city conducted routine psychological evaluations through the logistical drones. Every time, his results were getting worse. Increased aggression. Diminished emotional response. Anomalous neural feedback in stress tests. If this continued, it was only a matter of time before he lost control completely, just like his brother. One day, he might find himself screaming some nonsense about the Champion of Blood, or some other madness. Then, he would slaughter everyone around him. When that day came, the Thunderborn his brothers in arms would put him down. Grot stared at his hands. They looked normal. Rough. Calloused. Human. But he knew better. Monsters didn''t always have claws. If that was his fate, wouldn''t it be better to die in battle instead? At least then, his ashes would be enshrined in the orbital shipyard, alongside the honored dead. A clean end. A controlled detonation. Then, he made his decision. "I want to rejoin the military." Maya''s eyes widened. "But you''re not a Thunderborn anymore." "I know," Grot said. "I''ll ask the Governor to let me enlist in the regular army. Just as a normal infantryman." Maya''s expression hardened. "And if you die?" she demanded. "Out of the entire 44th Regiment, less than twenty of us survived. Thirteen more are missing, buried in tunnels, for all we know. I made it through that. You really think I''d die on Talon II?" Grot grinned. There was no bravado in it. Only resolve. Maya looked like she wanted to argue, but Grot was already standing up to leave. .... That night, after returning to his quarters, Grot sat at his desk. He began writing a formal request to enlist as a frontline soldier. Each word burned with purpose, like a silent confession etched in ink. A final act of control, in a life slowly spiraling beyond it. When he next met Grey, he would ask him to deliver it to the new Governor personally.