"FOR KATO!"
The man tightened his grip on the quad-barreled Heavy Stubber, unleashing a storm of lead into the densest clusters of heretics swarming through the rubble-strewn streets. The weapon roared like a caged beast, its rotating barrels glowing red with heat, brass casings spilling onto the blood-soaked concrete like spent prayers.
Stray las-shots and solid projectile rounds slammed into the armored truck's hull, but he remained unshaken. His fury was unwavering, his eyes locked on the enemy.
The sheer volume of fire ripped through walls, shattering enemy formations.
An entire building, packed with heretics, collapsed, burying its occupants alive.
"That thing was built for anti-aircraft, wasn't it?" Grey asked, nodding toward the monstrous weapon.
"Looks like it," Grot replied, shielding his face from the heat haze, "but he must have modified it. No way it was designed for this."
Qin Mo approached the man with purposeful strides, his heavy boots crunching over broken glass and shell casings.
"You're more useful elsewhere, " he said flatly. "Move, urban warfare needs your firepower."
The man glanced at him, unimpressed.
"Oh? And you're taking over this position?"
Qin Mo didn't explain.
Instead, he turned and fired his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon.
A luminous sphere of volatile energy shot forward, detonating mid-air above a knot of heretics. The blast hung for a moment like a miniature sun, then collapsed inward with a crackling implosion.
A storm of las-beams rained down.
Everything inside the blast radius was vaporized.
"Got it. Understood."
Without another word, the man ceased fire, leaped off the truck, and led his wife and children deeper into the city.
Qin Mo turned to Grey.
"You and the others, split up. Secure the city."
Grey nodded, igniting his jump pack and soaring away.
The other power-armored warriors followed, scattering into different districts like falling stars, each one a harbinger of death.
....
Landing atop a high-rise, Grey scanned the battlefield through the polarized visor of his power armor, the HUD glowing faintly in the dim light.
The city was a warzone. Ruined hab-blocks and shattered manufactoria clawed at the underhive sky like broken teeth, smoke rising between them in thick, choking plumes. Data-feeds flickered on his visor: ambient radiation levels climbing, power grids fluctuating, vox-traffic saturated with panic and dying screams.
A brutal stalemate raged between heretics and the local militia.
To Grey's surprise, the equipment gap wasn't as wide as expected.
Some militia fighters wore makeshift suits of powered armor, cobbled together from salvaged tech. Others wielded highly unorthodox weapons of uncertain origin.
Grey watched as one such weapon fired.
A golden beam lanced through the battlefield, instantly spearing through an enemy tank.
Ignoring less critical skirmishes, Grey focused on enemy positions.
His HUD tagged a heavy weapon nest within the building directly beneath him.
The heretics inside were pinning down the militia, suppressing any attempt to advance.
Grey activated his grav-shield.
With a sharp hum and a sudden shift in pressure, the air around him shimmered.
"CRACK∼!"
The floor beneath him collapsed, sending him plummeting into the structure below.
He landed hard, plating buckling under the impact, right in the center of the heretic-occupied first floor.
The heretics froze.
Their hands still gripped artillery controls.
Their expressions twisted into horror as if they'd seen death itself descend from the ceiling.
Grey raised his right arm.
Miniature energy spheres erupted in rapid succession.
The entire room was engulfed in laser scatterfire.
Bodies crumpled. Armor melted. The scream of flesh fusing to ceramite filled the chamber before silence reclaimed it.
Grey swept his aim in a full rotation.
The entire floor was cleansed of hostiles.
Then, he moved.
He approached the remaining heavy weapons, using his grav-shield to crush them into scrap.
The machinery shrieked as it twisted, folding like tin under invisible force.
"BOOM∼!"
An artillery shell detonated outside, sending shrapnel through the windows.
Grey snapped his gaze toward the blast's origin.
His HUD zoomed in, overlaying thermal and structural scans.
Through multiple layers of buildings, he identified the artillery crew—700 meters away.
Grey silently switched his shoulder cannon to Gauss mode.
Then, he fired.
The beam lanced through every obstacle in its path, reaching the distant enemy position. Walls vaporized, steel rebars split like bone, and heretic screams were cut off mid-syllable.
The artillery emplacement and its crew were obliterated in an instant.
As the cannon emplacement fell silent, a tank rumbled out from an alleyway.
Its left armor panel bore a painted image of a woman striking a heroic pose, brandishing a rifle.
From the turret hatch, a man with a bright red mohawk emerged.
"OHHH YEAH! THANKS, BROTHER!"
He shouted his gratitude—only to immediately duck back inside when a nearby explosion sent debris flying.
Trailing behind the tank, a motley crew of warriors followed—men and women, all with matching red mohawks.
Grey's eyes narrowed.
"Bloodcrest Gangers?" he muttered, voice edged with suspicion.
He had assumed all Underhive gangs had either joined the Traitors… or been wiped out.
Then, the tank commander reappeared, screaming into a Vox-bead.
"STOP PUSHING FORWARD, YOU IDIOTS!
THE CHAPEL'S ABOUT TO FALL! THE CHAPEL'S ABOUT TO FALL!"
A panicked voice responded.
"WHAT?! The chapel is the rear guard! How the hell is it in danger?!"
"STOP ADVANCING! PULL BACK TO THE CHAPEL—NOW!"
The gangers abruptly reversed course, sprinting toward the city's center.
Grey remained indifferent.
He didn't trust Underhive gangs.
To him, they were like wild dogs—dangerous, unreliable, and liable to turn on you the moment your back was turned.
Better to purge the city himself than rely on unpredictable allies.
....
Grey charged down the street, cutting through Traitor fire.
His Multi-Laser shrieked, shredding enemy infantry.
His shoulder cannon boomed, obliterating fortifications.
His grav-shield flared, crushing all solid rounds.
Incoming Las-fire was absorbed, its energy converted into fuel.
By the time he reached the district's edge, every heretic in his path was dead.
Then, he remembered Qin Mo's words.
"When I complete my masterpiece, and you see what it can do, you'll realize how weak and inefficient your current weapons truly are."
Grey paused.
He had mocked that claim before.
But now?
Looking at the battlefield—-
Realizing how effortlessly he had wiped out an entire sector—
He understood.
His previous power armor would have failed long ago.
"The next district."
Grey stepped over charred corpses.
A cruel grin tugged at his lips.
"You've got ten minutes left to live, worms."
....
With the power-armored warriors leading the charge, the urban skirmishes became an extermination.
Entire blocks of traitors were wiped out.
Entrenched enemy positions were reduced to rubble.
The militia no longer needed to breach buildings every fortified structure, once a deadly maze of ambush points, was simply leveled.
Fighting alongside these warriors meant they no longer needed to risk their lives carrying explosives into enemy fortifications.
For the militia, the benefits were clear.
Now, all they had to do was shout a warning—
And the entire structure would be blown apart in seconds.
The drawback?
The power-armored warriors weren't from Kato.
They didn't care about preserving the city.
To them, a 1,000-year-old historical monument was just another bunker to demolish.
....
Grey fought his way to the city's edge, where he met up with Grot and the others.
Behind them, the militia forces regrouped.
The Heretics fled in terror.
But the lucky few who escaped didn't get far.
A wall of fire roared across the wasteland, consuming everything in its path.
None survived.
Then—
Qin Mo descended from the sky.
His Aquila staff dripped with blood.
The two-headed eagle of the Imperium gleamed atop it, its wings spread in eternal vigilance.
Behind him, the last defenders of Kato arrived.
The entire city's remaining forces had gathered.
"Praise the Emperor!"
A PDF officer stepped forward, dropping to one knee before Qin Mo's staff.
"Praise the Emperor! Praise His chosen warriors!"
The soldiers followed suit, kneeling in reverence.
But the civilians, gangers, and bounty hunters knelt not before the staff—
They knelt before Qin Mo himself.
Because they knew the truth.
Without these reinforcements, they would have bled and died in the streets, unable to save their homes.
Qin Mo surveyed the assembled warriors.
Their ranks were… diverse.
Local Militia – a mix of civilian volunteers and remnants of the PDF, armed with hand-me-down rifles, patchwork flak vests, and more courage than training.
Gangers – Underhive warriors from the shattered depths of the city, bloodied survivors of turf wars, clad in scavenged armor and wielding brutal, jury-rigged weapons.
Bounty Hunters – mercenaries and contract killers, some ex-PDF, others worse, marked by long coats, scarred faces, and eyes that weighed every ally like a potential target.
Men and women who, normally, would've killed each other over a ration chit now stood united beneath the Imperium's banner.
A strange mix.
Then, a bounty hunter spoke.
"No offense, Lord… but did you have to turn half the city into ruins?"
Qin Mo turned away, striding toward the city center.
"This is War."
Then, he made a promise.
"When this war is over, I will build a new city, one so grand that even the Spire Lords will envy it.
New Kato shall be your reward."