Half a Terran standard day later
Deacon-Primaris David, senior envoy of the Ecclesiarchy Ministorum to Tyrone Hive, descended into the Lower Hive
He traveled alone.
No Frateris Templar bodyguards. No Crusader-Serfs. No escort.
Only the psychic Felinid cradled in his arms, its tail flicking lazily as it purred against the rosarius-laced folds of his crimson vestments.
A bold statement.
A show of unshakable Imperial Faith—
Or madness.
The corridors of the Lower Hive swallowed him in their oppressive darkness. The stench of unwashed bodies, industrial fumes, and refuse clung to the air like an omnipresent fog.
Every shadow in the crumbling corridors hid potential predators—gangers and mutants.
Yet none dared approach him. His presence alone, the unmistakable aura of an Imperial priest, forced them to slink away.
It was not respect that kept them at bay.
It was fear.
....
A Lone figure Approaches
Grey, stationed at the forward command post, rose from his position the moment David arrived.
The two men regarded each other in silence.
David's eyes narrowed.
This armor…
Grey's power armor was unlike anything David had ever seen within the Imperium.
Not the hallowed ceramite of the Adeptus Astartes, nor the ponderous servo-harnesses of the Adeptus Mechanicus. It bore no heraldry, no sanctified purity seals—only sleek, matte-black alloys etched with gold hexagrammic micro-engravings.
Techno-heresy or archeotech?
Something new.
Something impossible.
And yet—here it was.
His gaze drifted past Grey, sweeping over the assembled forces behind him.
Hundreds of soldiers, all wearing the same warplate, all carrying weapons of unknown design.
At that moment, the armor's origin ceased to matter.
What mattered was the simple fact that it existed.
If the Imperium did not control it, it was a blade at the throat of Holy Terra.
It was a threat.
....
David was the first to speak.
"Are you their leader?"
His voice was calm, but his mind raced.
Surely, this man was the true commander of the First Legion.
Grey remained silent.
Two seconds later—
A dimensional rift split open beside them, its edges crackling with empyric static.
The air itself recoiled, charged with a presence beyond mortal reckoning.
A man stepped forth, his presence chilling the already frigid air.
....
"Qin Mo."
He spoke his own name plainly, his gaze cold and direct.
David frowned at the lack of ritual obeisance, but let it pass.
"David."
He dipped his head slightly, speaking with measured courtesy.
"It is an honor to introduce myself to a loyal servant of the God-Emperor."
....
Qin Mo studied David.
The man was aged—perhaps two centuries old, though sustained by augmentic intervention. His body bristled with cybernetics, subtle in their integration but undeniable in their presence.
A black canister was grafted into his spine, connected directly to his primary heart—likely a life-extension module.
At that moment—
A memory surfaced.
The Shapeshifter's prophecy.
"The first man you meet worships a False God in the Sea of Souls."
Qin Mo almost laughed aloud.
Because, from the perspective of other factions, the Imperial Creed itself was a form of heresy.
So the prophecy wasn't wrong after all.
....
David, meanwhile, was evaluating Qin Mo.
There was arrogance in this young man—not only in his expression but in his very presence.
A lack of piety.
David could see it instantly.
This was not a man humbled by faith.
But he did not call him out on it.
Not yet.
....
"Who do you represent?" Qin Mo asked.
"The Hive and the Holy Ministorum,"
David's answer was calm, assured.
"Let's talk."
Qin Mo turned, leading the way back to the First Legion's encampment.
As they walked, Qin Mo observed David closely.
The priest's hand idly stroked the psychic Felinid, its purring unbroken, undisturbed.
That meant one thing—
David felt no fear.
No tension.
He was certain that he would not be harmed.
He believed the First Legion had no interest in rebellion.
That was his assumption.
But assumptions were dangerous.
....
In the bunker, two adamantium-reinforced chairs faced one another.
Qin Mo and David took their seats.
And the negotiation began.
David's eyes swept the camp, observing the battle-hardened warriors moving with purpose and discipline.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
"Poor children."
His voice dripped with pious pity.
"What horrors did you endure in the Underhive?"
Qin Mo's expression did not change.
"A war."
He offered no further elaboration.
Then—he listed his terms.
"My men are to be granted full freedom of movement within the Lower Hive.
They are permitted to reunite with their families.
They are permitted to relocate their families to New Kato, a reclaimed sector in the Underhive.
They are permitted to trade for supplies and transport resources."
David's face remained neutral.
But at the mention of relocating families, a flicker of concern passed through his features.
"You intend to return to the Underhive?"
"Yes."
David lowered his head, thinking deeply.
Right now, the only leverage the Spire Lords had over the First Legion was their families.
If they allowed them to be taken to the Underhive, they would lose all control.
But if he refused…
David sighed again.
He extended his will, reaching out—
Attempting to probe Qin Mo's mind.
For nearly a full minute, he searched.
Nothing.
So, he turned to Grey—
Nothing.
David's stomach churned.
Their power armor was blocking his psychic scan.
That meant—
This wasn't just some ragtag underhive army.
This was something else entirely.
....
Qin Mo's voice sharpened.
"Speak. Yes or no?"
David exhaled slowly.
"Yes."
Qin Mo smirked.
"Good. First negotiation complete."
He stood and walked away.
....
As Qin Mo departed, David realized—
That was only the first demand.
More would come.
If he wanted to prevent disaster, the best course of action…
Was war.
To brand the First Legion as heretics.
To eliminate them before they became something unstoppable.
But David had been a soldier once.
He knew what war against Qin Mo would bring.
A reckoning.
....
As Qin Mo was about to vanish, David called out—
"You fought so hard to escape the Underhive.
And now you send them back?
Are they merely tools for your ambitions?"
Qin Mo paused.
Then, he turned back, his gaze piercing.
"They are free.
They choose their own fate.
I force no one to return."
David's frown deepened.
"A dangerous gamble.
What if they all choose to stay?"
Qin Mo simply smiled.
Then—
A dimensional barrier shimmered around him.
A flash of light.
And he was gone.
....
David stood motionless, his mind racing.
This was spiraling beyond control.
The Ordo Hereticus must be summoned.
Yet Tyrone Hive was a speck to the Inquisition.
Unless…
An invitation in the Ecclesiarchy's name.
That might change things.
As David turned to leave, his psychic Felinid suddenly stirred.
It squirmed in agitation, sensing… something.
David calmed it, retrieving a small container from his robes.
The Felinid purred, using telekinesis to lift a writhing white grub into its mouth.
Grey grimaced through his helm's vox.
"Cute. But its diet's vile."
A voice crackled through his vox.
"No idea how that old bastard raised it to eat that."