It had been a long interval since the last major assault on the defensive line.
Since Qin Mo’s 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.
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.
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.
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 gear—awaited.
Las-fire cracked through the air.
And almost immediately—
The men fell silent, staring in disbelief.
This wasn’t merely a standard lasgun
Its discharge was different—more 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.
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.
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 Underhive’s 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.
“It’s Fortress.” Duncan remarked, gesturing toward the reinforced stronghold raised overnight.
"It must be another one of his 'miracles'."
Ever since Qin Mo arrived, they’d witnessed wonders that defied explanation.
A fortress, raised in minutes.
Entire squads in power armor, appearing as if forged from thin air.
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.
Ever since the "servitors" appeared, whispers had spread—
Claims that they weren’t just servitors.
That they housed Abominable Intelligence.
That they thought for themselves.
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 his 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.
Duncan’s answer was immediate.
"He’s forming a Mechanized Assault Regiment."
Duncan gestured toward the imposing Leman Russ.
"We’re 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.
“You think he’s planning a counterattack?” Albert blinked.
Duncan nodded firmly.
"What else would this be for? He didn’t build all this just to sit and wait."
Albert felt a surge of adrenaline.
For months, they had been on the defensive.
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.
"We’ve 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.
“Then we will burn like meteors.” Duncan whispered.
“Brilliant, brief, but unforgettable.”
“A celestial phenomenon. A streak of fire across the night sky, a final, fleeting blaze before vanishing into darkness.”
"I’ve never seen a sky before. But I imagine a heretic getting blasted by a tank shell looks pretty similar."
“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."