Deep beneath the fortress, within the research laboratories, Qin Mo dedicated himself to refining the intricate design schematics of a previous construct, his steady focus undisturbed by the quiet hum of machinery.
Across the open expanse of the lab,logistic drones labored methodically to fabricate a new, far bulkier suit of power armor. The floor beneath their grav-lifts thrummed with each discharge of energy as plasteel was layered molecule by molecule, the air shimmering faintly from the heat.
This suit was clearly not intended for a baseline human operator. Boasting an expansive internal compartment and encased entirely in plasteel alloy plating from head to toe, it presented a bulky and imposing silhouette, a physical testament to Qin Mo's preference for robust, utilitarian designs that valued function over ornament. Even unfinished, its presence in the lab seemed to dominate the space like a slumbering war-beast.
Once the drones completed printing the twin shoulder-mounted cannons and the dual energy turrets flanking the back, the suit bore a striking resemblance to aDreadnoughtemployed by the Adeptus Astartes.
["Ogryn-pattern power armor completed."]
As the fabrication cycle concluded, the logistics drones glided purposefully over to Qin Mo's side, their vox-units emitting a flat, measured report.
"Good," Qin Mo nodded, gesturing toward another schematic displayed on a nearby holoscreen. The glassy surface flickered, runes shifting and realigning under his command. "Print the next one too."
A drone drifted over, its mechanical tendrils deftly interfacing with the holographic display as it zoomed in and out across the intricate blueprint.
Like the Ogryn-pattern armor, its name was blunt and descriptive: the Ratling-pattern suit, designed for those wiry sharpshooters whose value lay in invisibility as much as precision.
After meticulously scanning the stealth generator blueprints, the drones floated to another fabrication platform and began the process anew, their limbs clicking in precise rhythm.
Qin Mo moved to inspect the Ogryn-pattern armor closely, running through his mental checklist for anything overlooked.
The acquisition of Ogryns across the Talon Subsectors had been deliberate, not incidental. In the Imperium, Ogryns were treated as little more than expendable brutes, sent into battle with little armor and less respect. Qin Mo saw them differently. To him, "subhumans" such as Ogryns and Ratlings were not liabilities but overlooked assets, specialists whose physical or mental quirks, if properly equipped, made them as useful as any baseline human.
Following their basic training, they'd don this armor and serve either as elite bodyguards to high-ranking officers or as heavy support troopers within regular Legion companies.Where the Imperium often threw Ogryns into battle half-naked with a ripper gun, Qin Mo sought to turn them into instruments of calculated devastation. Get full chapters from 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡⚑𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⚑𝙣𝙚𝙩
Recognizing the inherent limitations in the intelligence of these Ogryns, the armor's design was purposefully simple. Every element of its construction was engineered to transform them into efficient, unthinking instruments of war, robust yet straightforward in its execution.
The right gauntlet came with an integrated chainblade, while the left arm featured a shotgun-laser hybrid weapon, functionally similar to those used by the Adeptus Custodes. The dual shoulder cannons and the back-mounted turrets were all energy-based, negating the need for reloading. Everything was fed by a micro-fusion core slaved to fail-safes keyed to the Ogryn's biometrics; if the wearer died, the armor would lock down to prevent scavenging.
The Ogryns were spared the burden of mastering complex battlefield tactics. A single press of the trigger within the gauntlet activated sophisticated automated systems that oversaw targeting and firing with unwavering precision.
The shoulder cannons were calibrated for anti-missile interception, firing precision lasers at incoming projectiles. Every weapon system was integrated with IFF modules, not Imperial-standard but Qin Mo's own encrypted designs, imitating Imperial friend-or-foe tags to ensuring that engagement would occur only upon the confirmation of a hostile target, thereby safeguarding allied units from errant fire.
"That should do it," Qin Mo observed with measured satisfaction, turning back to the controls to initiate the final production cycles. The lab hummed with activity once more, drones resuming their tireless dance.
["You have visitors."]
The lab's AI announcement interrupted his work. A crystalline holographic projection materialized before him, revealing several individuals assembled in the fortress' grand main hall.
Qin Mo wasn't inclined to leave his sanctuary of research immediately, until his eyes caught sight of an Astartes among the visitors. His curiosity piqued, he stepped away from the humming consoles and the labyrinth of schematics hanging in the air, silencing them with a gesture. Cloak drawn tight against the cold, metallic air, he left the lab and made his way upstairs.
Waiting in the grand hall were Klein, Phoros, and their escort, Grey, the officer who had guided them through the fortress' perimeter checkpoints, along with ten other fully-armored Space Marines.
Upon Qin Mo's arrival, Klein stepped forward and gave a Aquila salute.
"It's been a while, Lord Governor."
"Must be at least six months," Qin Mo replied, helping him up and giving him a quick look-over. Klein looked well, dressed in a tailored coat, with a belt lined with a bandolier of imported cigars, smelling faintly of amasec and spice.
Klein had originally intended to catch up and share some of the misadventures he'd had over the past few months, but now wasn't the time. He stepped aside and motioned to the towering figure beside him.
"This is Phoros, Chapter Master of theLamenters."
Qin Mo had already noticed Phoros from the moment he stepped into the hall. Astartes were hard to miss, after all. And the crimson tear-and-heart sigil on his chest plate was unmistakable, though Qin Mo hadn't expected to meet their Chapter Master.
"Former Chapter Master," Phoros corrected with a slight bow. "I've had little contact with most of my brothers for eighty or ninety years now… perhaps eighty-five. Details often blur with time."
Qin Mo studied him for a moment, recalling the frayed fragments of lore from his previous life.
Yes, the Lamenters's last known Chapter Master had indeed been Phoros, former being the operative term.
The Lamenters was the textbook example of tragic heroism, sons ofSanguinius, twisted not by theBlack Rage, but by the cruel hand of fate. They were known to fight and die for the most righteous of causes, rescuing slaves, protecting the weak, yet they were perpetually poor, plagued by misfortune, and teetering on the edge of extinction since their inception.
One couldn't talk about the Lamenters without mentioning theBadab War.
TheAstral Claws, led byLufgt Huron, the self-declared "Tyrant of Badab", had usurped control over an entire sub-sector, turning their back on the High Lords of Terra by refusing to tithe gene-seed to the Adeptus Mechanicus.
What began as an administrative dispute spiraled into an Astartes civil war.
Several Chapters aligned with the Astral Claws, some by choice, some by accident.
The Lamenters fell into the latter category.
When Huron lost, his allies paid the price. Phoros' flagship was shot down by theMinotaurs Chapterduring the retreat, and he was declared missing in action after the ship's destruction.
Qin Mo found it quite surprising that Phoros had resurfaced, especially accompanying Klein and so he asked, "How do you two know each other?"
Klein immediately began recounting his tale.
Three months prior, while venturing into the fringe systems in search of Untouchables, Ogryns, or rare artifacts, he had extended his journey into poorly charted worlds in hopes of discovering exotic wildlife for trade.
That's when he found Phoros gnawing on toxic native fauna with ten of his surviving battle-brothers.
Phoros then added with a measured cadence, "Before encountering this merchant, I survived a cataclysm with ten of my battle-brothers. We found ourselves awakening upon a lost forge world of unknown location. I lent aid to the local governor in purging a xenos infestation, and in gratitude, he bestowed upon us a warp-capable vessel. Later, while navigating the treacherous Immaterium, we were buffeted by a Warp storm. The vessel sustained critical damage during the transit, forcing us to crash-land on a desolate planet near the Talon Subsectors."
Phoros had wisely omitted the exact nature of the "cataclysm", the Badab War. That conflict was politically sensitive, and even now, Phoros wasn't fully clear on the details himself. The weight of betrayal, of misplaced trust, of comrades turned to ash, those memories did not come easily.
"Tch tch tch..." Qin Mo clicked his tongue. "Your Chapter really is cursed with misfortune."
And indeed, misfortune was hardly exclusive to Phoros alone. The scattered remnants of the Lamenters were likely embroiled in desperate struggles, locked in endless battles on forgotten warzones, scarcely aware that their storied leader still navigated the Imperium of Man.
To many, the Lamenters were already myth, a warning etched into the chronicles of the Adeptus Astartes. A tale of how even the purest hearts could be shattered by the grinding machinery of Imperium politics.
As for why Phoros had come here, Qin Mo could already guess.
He was here to ask for help.
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