Five Days of Preparation
For five days, the logistics drones had worked tirelessly, their servo-limbs hissing and clicking through endless production cycles, mass-producing Dimensional Transmission Safeguard Units under Qin Mo's direct oversight.
To ensure maximum efficiency and portability, he miniaturized the devices, integrating them into the power packs of standard-issue Praetorian power armor.
Naturally, the Thunderborn-pattern power armor, reserved for his elite warriors, received an advanced, built-in variant.
Qin Mo had temporarily suspended further research into long-range dimensional transmission.
Interstellar traversal could wait. The stars would not run.
For now, the immediate objective was far simpler.
Turning Yoan, a scrap-born wretch of the Underhive into a warrior.
....
Training Grounds
Beyond the fortress walls, three armored figures clashed beneath a sky hung low with blackened clouds, choked with ash and industrial waste.
Grey. Grot. Yoan.
All clad in Thunderborn-pattern power armor.
Qin Mo watched in silence, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable, recording Yoan's combat data from a nearby cogitator array that hissed and clicked with machine-logic.
"Too cowardly!"
Grey's snarl cut the air, followed by a hiss as he fired his wrist-mounted scatter-laser. Each burst of searing light cracked through the gloom, hammering into Yoan's chestplate with relentless precision.
"Just like when you froze in the tunnel! The only difference is—" Grey fired again, las-rounds screaming through the air, forcing Yoan back, step by halting step.
"You're not pissing yourself this time!"
Yoan stumbled, trying to dodge, but Grey's aim never missed.
His armor's shielding flared, absorbing the repeated impacts, each one sparking with crackling energy.
"Hit number 1,420."
Qin Mo noted it absently, his tone detached, his patience thinning.
Yoan had the instincts of an Underhive survivor.
But he lacked conviction.
Instead of fighting back, he kept dodging, a wasteful, losing strategy.
He had only just donned power armor; there was no way he could outmaneuver Grey, a seasoned combatant.
"STOP RUNNING, YOU COWARD!"
A thunderous impact.
Grot had charged.
His massive gauntlet drove into Yoan's chest like a siege ram, the kinetic force launching him off his feet, a ragdoll caught in a storm.
Before Yoan could recover, Grot was upon him, slamming him into the ash-choked earth, pinning him with brute strength. He pummeled Yoan's helmet again and again, the strikes ringing like thunder against a cathedral bell.
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, lips split, one eye already swelling shut.
"I… I'm 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 didn't need to say anything.
Grot understood immediately.
He grabbed Yoan by the throat, hauling him to his feet.
"From now on, I'm going to beat the cowardice out of you. You disgrace that power armor."
He dragged Yoan away, leaving deep boot prints in the ash.
As they vanished into the smoke-hazed distance, Grey exhaled deeply, as if relieved of a burden unspoken.
Then, he turned to Qin Mo.
"With all due respect… he's 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 couldn't understand why Qin Mo was so invested in Yoan.
....
"And what do you think about the Devotees?"
Grey stiffened.
Yesterday, he had been assigned to monitor the cult-like movement festering beneath their ranks, as per Qin Mo's orders.
His response was immediate.
"They have turned their backs on the Emperor."
Qin Mo nodded.
Then, Grey hesitated.
"However… I understand why they worship you."
His voice was quiet, cautious.
"You led us out of certain death. The things you've done… The miracles you've performed…"
Qin Mo smirked.
"I think I'm a god too."
Grey tensed, uncertain if he was joking.
But Qin Mo's grin widened.
"I don't need their worship. And their faith makes them vulnerable to... manipulation."
His voice dropped to a low murmur.
"Imagine what happens if they're… 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-Emperor's 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 Emperor's Angel."
Grey nodded, turned, and walked away.
As Qin Mo watched him disappear into the dim corridor, he rolled the phrase across his tongue.
"Emperor's Angel."
He nearly laughed.
If it weren't for the risk of Chaos corruption, or the Adeptus Ministorum (Ecclesiarchy) hunting them down, he would have gladly accepted their worship.
....
Five Days Later
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, its mechanisms locking into place with a magnetic hiss.
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, his armor humming with stored energy.
As the process began, his safeguard unit activated, deploying a protective barrier, a translucent shimmer cocooning him in blue light.
Unlike the first test subject, Duncan felt no pain.
The Master Control AI performed rapid calculations.
Then he stepped into the void.
....
Between Dimensions
It was… strange.
Duncan could see his body.
But everything around him blurred.
Yet at the same time, he felt everything, every current of raw force, every vibration in the fabric of reality.
Then something pulled him back.
The world solidified.
His senses snapped back.
Duncan was no longer underground.
Behind him a vast, empty wasteland.
Further ahead, a colossal, fortified checkpoint at 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 general's voice boomed.
"Are you human or xenos?!"
Duncan slowly removed his helmet, revealing his face. His expression was calm. Defiant. Unbroken.
"I am Colonel Duncan of the 87th Infantry Regiment, First Legion."
The general's expression darkened.
"87th Regiment? That's 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, its pulse warping the very atmosphere.
The soldiers on the defensive line looked at each other, bewildered.
What was he doing?
Duncan's gaze hardened.
"We're alive. All of us."
Then—
The sky tore open.
Across the open field, rifts flared into existence.
Gravity-shielded drones emerged first.
Then, Grey, clad in imposing Thunderborn armor.
Then, the rest of the army.
Infantry. Tanks. Heavy artillery. Logistics drones.
All battle-ready.
The general's lips trembled.
His breath shuddered.
Finally, he whispered.
"By the Emperor…"