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 enclave’s 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-priest’s ministrations.
Black, spherical constructs hovered above the scavenging drones, their crimson lenses pulsing as they scanned each piece of recovered equipment.
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.
No schematics, no assembly, no discernible mechanism.
Just pure abstraction, a process that felt more akin to sorcery than science.
“You’re 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 hive’s 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, “I’ll fight until I’m freed from this miserable, lightless hell.”
He understood Albert’s 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.”
Albert’s 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 host—a Legion—under the supreme command of Lord Commander Qin Mo.
Duncan gave Albert a pointed look. “We should be mindful of how we address him now. He’s 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 wouldn’t reach ten thousand.”
Duncan was about to respond when Albert’s expression shifted. His mind raced. A realization dawned.
“The city of Kato,” Albert muttered. “There are over three hundred thousand people there. That’s where the recruits are coming from, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” Duncan nodded. “I received word that Kato’s reconstruction is underway.
The civilians, upon learning of the new city’s construction, have chosen to repay the Lord Commander for his efforts.
They’ve volunteered en masse for military service. They’ll 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 people—underhivers 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 that’s happening… it’s all preparation for the counteroffensive. After months of waiting, it’s 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.
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. “We’re 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. You’re telling me he can’t make a slingshot and launch my ashes out of here?"
Duncan sighed. “Fine. If you die, I’ll 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.
Albert’s 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 haven’t checked there?”
“We did. He wasn’t 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.
Albert’s bodyguard, following closely, hesitated before asking, “You don’t think… the heretics captured him, do you?”
“Impossible,” Duncan snapped. “Sentries are posted at every vantage point. If the enemy approached, they’d have seen it.”
Albert’s bodyguard exhaled in relief—only for Duncan’s next words to reignite his dread.
“Albert left on his own.”
Duncan clenched his fists. “The heretics have psykers. If he wandered beyond the fortress’s 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.
Albert’s bodyguard stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”
Duncan glanced at him. “Are you trained as a scout?”
The bodyguard faltered. “No, but—”
“Then you’ll 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.