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 weapons—bursts of destructive energy and incandescent fire—disintegrated 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 Patriarch’s 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 master’s torment, felt it like an open wound.
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 Mo’s onslaught.
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.
This wasn’t 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 head—all of it marked her as something far beyond a standard Genestealer Magus.
She had six broodguards flanking her—elite hybrids, garbed in ceremonial purple war-robes, each wielding power-imbued sabers.
She wasn’t just any psyker. She was one of the Cult’s highest-ranking priestesses, a being of immense influence directly linked to the hive mind’s will.
Her broodguard would be just as deadly—assassins capable of butchering entire squads before their victims even knew they were under attack.
But Qin Mo wasn’t concerned.
What could they possibly do? Charge directly into the gravitic shield’s crushing field?
Then, the Patriarch stirred.
With one colossal, trembling talon, it reached out—placing it upon the High Magus’s shoulder.
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 didn’t 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 shield’s crushing field.
The broodguard had remained motionless, unfazed, their posture unshaken—as if they were an unbreakable defensive line.
Unfortunately for them—
High Magus wasn’t 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 C’tan—a force anchored in the material universe itself.
The High Magus’s 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 didn’t matter.
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 enemy’s 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 Patriarch’s order—otherwise, the Magus and her guards would have prioritized the Patriarch’s survival over their own.
He didn’t even attack.
Every cultist within his landing radius died instantly.
Crushed beneath the gravitic shield’s field of pressure.
The Patriarch lasted only three seconds.
Then—its massive form collapsed, its grotesque frame compressed into a sickening, two-dimensional smear upon the metallic ground.
The Patriarch was dead.
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 other’s throats.
But Qin Mo wasn’t finished.
He approached the Patriarch’s remains, extracting biomass samples—muscle, 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 isn’t over.” Grey muttered. “That Magus is still alive.”
Qin Mo held up the extracted biomass, a knowing smirk crossing his face.
“But it will be soon.”
He had plans for this genetic material.
One that would exterminate the Cult—forever.
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 wouldn’t 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.”