"Open fire! Shoot him down!"
Lasguns flared, their searing beams scorching the air, saturating the arena in a relentless storm of energy.
But Heavy Hammer moved like a predator.
His augmetic limbs were no burden—they were an enhancement, driving him forward with unnatural speed, turning him into a blur of slaughter.
He weaved between the las-bolts, closing the distance in an instant.
His war axe cleaved through armor and flesh alike, shearing limbs from bodies, sending wet sprays of crimson across the blood-soaked sands of the arena.
One squad fell.
Then another.
Then another.
And through it all—
He laughed.
....
Grot stood frozen.
Watching his brother carve through dozens of men, tearing them apart as if they were nothing.
This wasn't a fight to escape.
This wasn't a struggle to survive.
This was butchery.
And worst of all—
He was enjoying it.
....
Heavy Hammer stormed through another set of blast doors, beheading the guards before they could react, vanishing into the depths of the coliseum.
Grot cursed and ran after him.
He already knew where he was going.
....
When Grot finally caught up, he realized where they were—
The Gladiator Holding Cells.
Row upon row of iron-barred cages lined the walls.
Inside, doomed souls—thieves, murderers, debt slaves, and those unlucky enough to be kidnapped—awaited their inevitable death in the arena.
Many were already wounded, bearing jagged scars from previous battles.
Grot reached for the locks, intending to free them.
But Heavy Hammer was faster.
With one swing after another, his war axe shattered the cell doors, tearing hinges from their frames.
The prisoners stumbled forward, their faces a mix of hope and confusion.
Then—
They watched in horror as Heavy Hammer turned—
And began slaughtering the wounded among them.
....
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Grot's voice thundered through the stone halls, thick with rage and disbelief.
Heavy Hammer barely acknowledged him, his tone eerily calm:
"I am liberating them.
The weak deserve release."
Hammer replied, cleaving another maimed soul in half.
"Better death than a broken existence."
Grot felt his stomach twist.
He had expected bloodshed.
But this?
This was madness.
"It's Enough."
Grot stepped forward, hand extended.
"Come back with me. We can end this here."
Heavy Hammer ignored him, tossing weapons to the stronger prisoners—shackles, broken chains, even rusted metal pipes.
He pointed down the hall.
"We march.
We execute every last one of them.
And I will find Maya."
Grot's hand lowered.
His shoulder-mounted cannon swiveled into place, locking onto Heavy Hammer's back.
"Damn you, Antara! Stand down! You're not leaving this place."
Heavy Hammer didn't even glance back.
"Then kill me.
Strike me down.
But I will not stop.
For the Champion of Blood demands it!"
Grot's rage snapped.
"Screw your Champion!"
He turned—
And fired.
....
The beam of superheated energy tore through stone and steel, blasting a crater into the arena's foundation.
But—
His target wasn't Heavy Hammer.
It was the bloodstained effigy of the Champion of Blood.
As the statue disintegrated, and the rivers of blood that had flowed so unnaturally across the arena floor halted, as though severed from some unseen wellspring.
Heavy Hammer stopped.
For just a moment, he glanced over his shoulder.
Then—
He turned back and kept walking.
....
Grot said nothing more. There was nothing left to say.
His fury boiled over into cold, grim acceptance.
He turned away.
Reaching the center of the arena, he summoned a transport drone. As it descended, he vaulted aboard, signaling for extraction.
Then, in a final moment of defiance, he commanded his shoulder cannon to fire once more.
The blast ripped through the coliseum, collapsing sections of the upper floors, burying the walkways in rubble and fire.
Only once it was reduced to ruin did he depart for good.
....
As Grot's transport ascended, he looked down upon the hive streets below.
His stomach sank.
An entire regiment of troops had surrounded First District.
From the transport drone's viewport, he saw Grey and Klein commanding the occupation force, securing buildings, rounding up citizens.
They weren't just containing the chaos.
They were purging the entire district.
His anger faded—
Replaced by a cold realization.
"I've started a war."
....
A full Terran day later
Deacon-Primaris David arrived at the First Army's occupied sector.
But this time—
He did not come alone.
An escort of one hundred elite soldiers, clad in full battle armor, flanked him.
David strode forward, his psychic Felinid resting in his arms, its warp-sensitive whiskers twitching at the lingering bloodshed.
He found Qin Mo—
Not standing in command,
Not preparing for war,
But crouched over a strange machine, assembling components with inhuman precision.
David's voice cut through the silence.
"What… is that?"
Qin Mo barely looked up, his focus unbroken.
"A more stable, energy-efficient teleportation system."
With a simple gesture, he activated the mechanism.
A squad of soldiers stepped forward—
And vanished.
Moments later, their auspex signatures reappeared—now registering from New Kato Fortress.
David's frown deepened, his mind racing through the implications, weighing the boundaries of tactical innovation and heretical transgression.
"You locked down the First District."
His voice carried the weight of accusation.
"Why?"
Qin Mo did not answer immediately.
Instead, he turned his gaze aside.
"Grot."
Grot stepped forward, helmet removed, and knelt.
David's familiar hissed, sensing the lingering bloodshed around him.
David himself narrowed his eyes, rage barely contained beneath his composed veneer.
"Your soldiers massacred civilians.
Razed entire hab-blocks.
Why?"
Qin Mo's expression remained unreadable, his voice steady and devoid of remorse.
"His sister was sold into slavery.
His brother was forced into the gladiator pits.
And he is not alone.
Many of my soldiers found their families in the First District.
And not as visitors."
David exhaled slowly, a deliberate motion, steadying the storm within.
"I was not made aware of this…"
"Of course you weren't," Qin Mo sneered. "You weren't there when my men found their kin lying on bloodstained floors, draped in rags, whispering desperate prayers to the Emperor as they suffered unspeakable torment."
David's eyes darkened.
He was not a fool. He knew what festered in the Hive's underbelly, the rot that spread beneath the golden banners of Imperial rule.
He had simply never cared before.
Now, standing before Qin Mo, standing before the consequence of that apathy, he could no longer look away.
His psychic Felinid bristling. It sensed its master's mood, its unnatural eyes fixing upon Qin Mo with predatory focus.
Qin Mo returned the stare—and in that moment, he saw something lurking beneath those luminous irises. Cunning. Deception. A presence coiled in shadows.
And in that moment, he knew.
David's loyalty was not purely to the Emperor.
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths.
David inhaled deeply, taking in the sight of the First Legion forces. It was worse than he had feared.
And then, in an unnervingly calm voice, he spoke.
"I understand your grievances. This was a failure of the hive's leadership.
I will not interfere. I will declare this purge… a divine punishment upon those who have forsaken the Emperor's light."
Qin Mo smiled.
"Thank you."
....
As David turned to leave, Grot felt his shoulders relax.
For a brief moment, he had feared execution.
But instead—
"Grot, remove your armor."
Qin Mo's voice was absolute.
"You are no longer my soldier.
You will be sent to New Kato. You will work, and you will serve."
Grot swallowed hard—
Then silently obeyed.
Qin Mo watched him vanish into the teleportation field.
And whispered.
"Better a worker than a heretic."