As they arrived at the location where numerous abominations had gathered, the infantrymen, who had been calm moments ago, now wore grave expressions, scarcely daring to breathe. These horrifying creatures, nearly impossible to kill and capable of immense destruction, had left a deep mark of fear on all who had faced them in the course of the counteroffensive.
But to Grote, these monsters were no more remarkable than the thickness of their remains when they were crushed beneath his grav-shield.
"BOOM!" Grote stood behind the abominations, issuing a loud sound to draw their attention.
The creatures turned their dull heads slowly, and upon seeing Grote, they seemed to remember something, their fury suddenly igniting as they charged towards him with wild, maddened roars.
"Come on, you bastards," Grote snarled, gripping his grav-hammer tightly. With the boost from his jetpack, he surged forward, smashing through two of the creatures, swinging his hammer in a wide arc.
Nothing could withstand the force of the grav-hammer; every abomination within its sweep was crushed under the pressure, flung aside like broken dolls, their bodies splattered against the walls.
Grote continued to demonstrate his mastery of close combat and control. He darted nimbly, sometimes ramming an abomination with his shoulder, each time his jetpack firing to give him extra momentum, sending his foes reeling. These seemingly simple maneuvers were, in fact, quite difficult to execute, as the jetpack's propulsion was triggered by specific movements. Without the correct forward-thrusting posture, the pack wouldn't provide any force.
Every abomination struck by his shoulder lost its balance, only to be met with a crushing blow from his hammer, their heads smashed down to their waists. When another creature lunged at him, Grote would skillfully duck, pressing his left hand into its torso before unleashing a shotgun blast of laser rounds.
The densely packed beams pierced through the body, causing the abomination's organs and blood to boil instantly from the heat. Another one fell.
Grote dispatched the creatures with practiced ease, activating his grav-shield only in the most dire moments. When exhaustion finally crept in, he hung the hammer on his back, letting loose with both the weapons on his hands and his shoulder-mounted cannon. In an instant, all abominations within his line of fire were obliterated.
"Finished," Grote murmured with satisfaction, admiring the "masterpiece" he had crafted in this grim place.
"You should check what's in there first," an officer reminded him, pointing towards the room the abominations had been guarding.
"Ah, I nearly forgot," Grote replied, walking towards the door. Without hesitation, he swung his hammer at it.
The door was a simple iron plate, the kind of crude scrap-metal construction typical of the underhive. Yet, despite the powerful blow, it didn't budge.
"What?" Grote blinked in confusion. Stepping back about twenty meters, he assumed a charging stance.
With a roar, his jetpack ignited, propelling him forward. Just before impact, Grote crashed into the door with his shoulder. To his astonishment, he felt resistance. Frustrated, he activated the grav-shield, trying to crush the door with sheer force.
Though the wall around it crumbled, the iron door remained intact.
Stunned, Grote simply stepped around the door, entering the room. Inside, he found a simple bed and, lying unconscious upon it, a blonde woman.
She was dressed in the tattered uniform of the rebel forces, but she was unmistakably human. His helmet's HUD scanned her, outlining her form, comparing her skull to that of a normal human. The conclusion was clear: human.
"By the Emperor… What is this?" Grote muttered, feeling as though he'd seen a ghost.
"I don't know who she is," the officer stepped forward, draping his coat over her. "But I think we should get her somewhere safe."
Grote agreed without hesitation. Hoisting the woman onto his shoulder, he carried her out of the bunker and onto his transport, issuing an order for the ship to return to the 47th Regiment's stronghold. To ensure her absolute safety, he even called for drone escorts.
…
"We're not sure of her condition. She was unconscious when they brought her in."
"I don't wish to disturb your research, but you really need to be aware of this," a soldier explained, leading Qin Mo down the hallway of the fortress. The two eventually reached a room at the top floor, one of the better-maintained rooms that had previously belonged to Laon. Guards stood vigil outside.
Qin Mo pushed open the door and entered. Seated on the bed was the woman, now awake, with an officer gently questioning her and offering her a cup of relatively clean water.
"She just woke up, Legion Commander," the officer informed him before saluting and exiting the room. He glanced back at the woman with concern before closing the door behind him.
Qin Mo eyed the officer curiously, pondering why these hardened soldiers would be so deferential to a mere woman. In his mind, there was only one explanation—she was a psyker, using her abilities to influence the minds around her, compelling them to treat her kindly.
He approached her, sitting down across from her. Even without being told, he could sense her psychic presence. Yet, she bore no hostility, so despite his deep-seated aversion to psykers, he felt no immediate danger.
"You're a psyker," Qin Mo stated coldly. "It's rare to see a civilian in the underhive. Are you part of a gang? Or perhaps a bounty hunter?"
"You may call me Vanessa," the woman responded, ignoring his questions entirely.
Irritation flared within Qin Mo. As he opened his mouth to repeat his inquiry, Vanessa smiled and spoke again: "You've led a legion that should've been wiped out long ago and brought it this far. Well done… Prisoner."
Her words struck Qin Mo like a blow, not through any psychic force, but by the sheer weight of their meaning.
After a moment of stunned silence, Qin Mo's hand shot out, gripping Vanessa's throat. His voice was low and dangerous as he demanded, "How do you know who I am? Answer me in three seconds, or I'll reduce you to ashes."
"Fr— from…" Vanessa gasped, struggling against his grip. "From the mind of your soldier… Grote."
"It seems I need to expedite my research on psyker inhibitors," Qin Mo muttered, tightening his hold. "Any last words, psyker?"