Qin Mo worked tirelessly.
His hands hovered above the workbench, assembling the sixth power armor suit with inhuman precision.
tal plates levitated into place, servos and actuators fused seamlessly, while the armor’s core humd with contained energy.
At the sa ti, a spoon drifted from a ration pack to his mouth, guided by telekinesis.
He chewed thoughtfully.
For two days, he had avoided this synthetic food, assuming it was sothing… unnatural.
He had been wrong.
It was surprisingly good.
And as he ate, he understood exactly how it had been produced.
All biological remnants recovered from the battlefield whether fallen enemies, or the mutant horrors lurking in the Underhive were collected.
Then, the logistics drones, operating under the AI Core’s directive, purified the remains, extracting nutritional value and biomass.
The resulting material was tasteless at first.
But the drones had learned.
Using safe chemical agents, they replicated flavor compounds, ensuring a palatable, nutritious, and completely harmless food source.
....
A calm, chanical voice filled Qin Mo’s comms.
[“Based on collected data from three logistics units, this food maintains a 100% approval rating among active troops.
Over 70% report enhanced physical strength and accelerated wound recovery following consumption.
These findings have been uploaded to the data core for further optimization of the supply chain.”]
It was a routine report.
The AI functioned autonomously, but Qin Mo still monitored its actions.
He swallowed another bite.
“What about the intelligence network?” he asked, already expecting the next data stream.
[“All completed reconnaissance drones have been deployed.
We have confird the existence of 42 remaining defensive positions.
18 are under heavy attack.3 are on the verge of collapse.
Including the defenders at this fortress, total surviving Imperial personnel within the Underhive number 357,231.
If reinforcents are required, I will calculate the optimal deploynt strategy.”]
Qin Mo paused mid-bite.
Three hundred and fifty-seven thousand?
That number was impossible.
According to Klein’s previous reports, before the situation had deteriorated, the Lord Marshal had only allocated 50,000 n to establish a defensive line.
So where did the extra 300,000 people co from?
[“There is a civilian settlent within the Underhive—designated ‘Kato.’]
The AI answered before he could voice the question.
Qin Mo nodded slowly in realization.
"That explains it."
He placed his helt on. The visor sealed with a sharp, pressurized hiss, drowning his face in the blue glow of internal systems.
"Calculate the best reinforcent plan."
His HUD flickered to life, rendering a detailed 3D topographic map in shifting tones of gray and blue.
The remaining defensive positions were color-coded:
Green – Relatively stable.Orange – Under siege but holding.Red – Critically endangered, low manpower.
A route snaked through the red zones, highlighted in pulsating light the shortest path to reach and support every besieged stronghold.
[“Two of the three high-risk positions can be stabilized using fire support drones.
However, the settlent of Kato—1,000 kiloters west requires your direct intervention.
I request authorization to deploy fire support drones.”]
"Granted."
Qin Mo nodded.
Imdiately, four fire support drones lifted off from the 47th Regint’s fortress, thrusters roaring as they accelerated toward the besieged Imperial positions.
"I should move out as well."
Qin Mo stood, glancing at the newly completed sixth power armor suit.
He felt… hollow.
This wasn’t his masterpiece.
Over the past weeks, he had realized sothing.
He wasn’t developing technology out of necessity.
He loved creating.
The thrill of solving complex engineering problems, of crafting the impossible, gave him satisfaction.
But now?
He was too efficient.
What took other scientists decades, he completed in days.
The challenge was gone.
He hungered for sothing new. Sothing greater. The next great invention.
And in that hunger, he understood—
The power he wielded ca from a Star God obsessed with creation.
But now wasn’t the ti to dwell on it.
There was work to do.
Qin Mo opened a voxs channel.
“Grey, fetch Grot. His armor is ready.”
“Are we heading out?” ca the crackled reply.
"Of course."
Qin Mo’s visor glowed.
"We’re moving to reinforce the settlent of Kato."
....
Kato wasn’t a makeshift refuge.
It was a functioning micro-city carved deep into the festering heart of the Underhive.
Bounty hunters scavenged ancient relics from forgotten ruins.
Gangs ran illicit manufacturing operations, producing weapons and contraband.
Civilians labored, trading work for food and protection.
Water was recycled from fungal reservoirs. Food ca from corpse starch presses or mold farms cultivated in sewer caverns. Money ant nothing—labor, loyalty, and firepower were the only currencies.
Here, survival wasn’t a right. It was currency earned or stolen.
Qin Mo had heard of Kato before.
He had assud it was already lost.
But when he arrived—
He found 2,000 Planetary Defense Force (PDF) soldiers holding the main highway.
"It's him!"
The PDF soldiers saw his Aquila staff.
Morale surged.
"Hold the line." Qin Mo ordered.
He turned to a nearby trench officer.
"I was inford you have 2,000 troops. But you’re all concentrated here.
Who’s fighting in the rest of the city?"
The officer opened his mouth to answer—
"VROOM∼!"
An engine roared behind them.
A vehicle rumbled forward, stopping beside Qin Mo.
It was a utility truck, armored in scavenged plate steel and painted with crude devotional symbols to the Emperor, covered with a tarp.
The driver, a civilian jumped out, followed by his wife and three children, each wearing makeshift armor patched with duct tape, scrap plating, and shattered ceramic tiles.
Qin Mo’s visor glowed ominously.
"This is a warzone. What are you doing here?"
The man snorted, throwing a sideways glance at the entrenched PDF troops with open disdain.
"Helping these useless bastards."
He climbed onto the truck bed, boots thudding against corroded tal, and tore off the tarp.
Underneath?
A quad-barreled Heavy Stubber, its barrels already slick with oil and gri.
His wife and children rushed forward, hands practiced and precise as they fed fresh ammunition belts into place.
Within seconds, the man locked his stance, took aim—
And unleashed hell, the stubber barking thunder into the shadows, its recoil shaking the truck as brass casings clattered to the ferrocrete.
His family wasn’t idle.
His wife and eldest son retrieved lasrifles, checking scopes before engaging targets.
Even the smallest child—barely taller than her weapon—executed precise headshots like a seasoned sniper.
....
The officer sighed.
"As you can see… most of the fighting in the city is handled by the civilians."
He gestured toward the skyline of Kato—rooftop nests, smoke-belching chimneys, and banners sewn from flak jackets fluttering in toxic wind.
Qin Mo exhaled.
So this was why Kato had endured.
In the Underhive, those too weak to fight…
Had already been culled by their harsh reality.
“Truly,” he muttered, “the Underhive breeds the toughest bastards in the Imperium.”
And then, he joined the battle.
Reviews
All reviews (0)