Chapter 12: Hold the Line!

The rebels concentrated their fire on Grey—Heavy Stubber lasers, lasguns, solid projectile weapons—everything they had, they unleashed.

But none of it could touch Grey.

Kinetic rounds disintegrated mid-air, shredded by the grav-shield. Las-bolts struck the energy plating of his power armor, only to be deflected harmlessly away, scattering in wild, useless arcs.

"For the Emperor!"

Qin Mo raised his force staff and chainsword high, charging into the heart of the mutant horde.

"Engage! For the Emperor!"

A Planetary Defense Force officer leaped out of the trench, roaring orders at his troops.

The chaotic melee that had briefly halted due to Qin Mo's sudden arrival now resumed with full intensity.

The battlefield was a whirlwind of violence—a perfect environment for Qin Mo, Grey, and anyone else clad in power armor.

Tactics? Unnecessary.

All that was required was a relentless advance, grav-shield deployed, and let the twin-linked lascannons mounted on each hand sweep across the battlefield in a storm of fire.

Even if some heretics charged forward clutching explosives or wielding rusted bayonets, it didn't matter. The grav-shield would stop them cold.

Even the most devastating energy weapons—the one thing that could potentially overwhelm the grav-shield—couldn't penetrate power armor.

The armor's joints were reinforced with shield generators designed specifically to counter las-weapons, generating an energy plating over the armor's surface that deflected incoming fire with minimal power consumption.

The only true weakness of power armor was its extreme energy consumption. In full combat mode, with all systems engaged, it could only sustain an hour of continuous battle.

But the heretics didn't know that. And even if they did, it wouldn't matter—because in a fight where the numbers weren't overwhelmingly stacked against them, few enemies would survive long enough to see that hour pass.

"Disable the energy plating on the armor—divert all power to the weapon systems! Full firepower!"

Grey sprinted to Qin Mo's side, covering him as they advanced while relaying orders to the power armor's control system.

As soon as the HUD displayed the deactivation of the energy plating, the weapon systems surged to their maximum power output.

In the power armor designed by Qin Mo, energy distribution was fully customizable.

He could funnel all power to the grav-shield, expanding its range, or pour everything into the weapon systems, increasing rate of fire and destructive capability.

Now, Grey's grav-shield overlapped with Qin Mo's, forming a near-impenetrable bulwark.

Grey focused on eliminating enemy infantry, cutting them down before they could get close, while Qin Mo dedicated himself to surgically striking down the abominations with his reality bending abilities.

"For the Emperor! For the Emperor!"

Grey kept his gaze locked ahead, his armor's onboard targeting system marking every enemy in his field of vision.

His twin-linked lascannons blazed, sweeping across the enemy ranks until the targeting markers disappeared—only then did he shift to the next group.

Unsurprisingly, the two of them became the focal point of enemy fire.

But the grav-shields intercepted every solid projectile effortlessly.

The occasional las-shot that landed merely left scorch marks on the armor. And whenever that happened, Grey would immediately pivot, unleashing suppressive fire in the direction of the attack.

Some heretics even brought in heavy Multi-Lasers—hell, some even dragged out anti-armor cannons. But it was useless. The moment they fired, they drew Grey's unrelenting wrath.

"I am the Emperor's wrath! Die, you heretical scum!"

Grey roared, exhilarated. He felt unstoppable, invincible. The heretics before him, helpless against the grav-shield, were nothing more than insects.

....

Qin Mo, after reducing another mutant to a charred husk, glanced toward Grey.

He couldn't see the expression under the helmet, but he didn't need to.

He already knew.

It wasn't just Grey.

Every soldier wearing power armor was experiencing the same thing—men who once had to cower in cover, whispering prayers to the Emperor that the next bullet wouldn't have their name on it, now stood unchallenged, carving through enemy ranks like a force of nature.

Grey and the others needed time to adjust.

Qin Mo, however, the creator of this power armor, felt nothing. No pride. No exhilaration.

It still wasn't enough. Not efficient enough.

He had always pursued one ultimate goal—not a single piece of technology, not a single weapon, but a guiding principle:

To ensure that when soldiers entered the battlefield, they would kill the maximum number of enemies in the shortest possible time with the fewest possible losses.

Qin Mo split his attention—most of his focus remained on analyzing and refining his ideas, while a fraction of his mind continued dispatching enemies.

Until the last mutant was reduced to charred remains, and the remaining heretic forces lost all morale, breaking ranks and fleeing in desperation.

"The Emperor protects! Victory is ours!"

Grey lifted his arms in triumph, twin-linked lascannons still crackling from continuous discharge.

"Yeah. We won."

Qin Mo said flatly, turning away to observe the remaining friendly forces.

Two officers—regimental commanders—stepped forward. One look at the Aquila-staff in Qin Mo's hand and the power armor he wore, and they knew—whether noble-born or elite warrior, this man outranked them.

"Honor to you, Lord."

Both officers snapped to attention, executing the Aquila salute. The surviving soldiers followed suit.

"The Emperor guided me here to reinforce you."

Qin Mo accepted their reverence without hesitation. He would use it to deliver words that would reinforce their morale.

Because sometimes, a lie was far more valuable than the truth.

For these men, struggling to survive in the hellscape of the underhive, believing that the Emperor had personally watched over them was the strongest possible motivator.

And they had no way to prove otherwise.

After all, how else could they explain how, at their moment of greatest desperation, six warriors descended from the sky and slaughtered the enemy with godlike efficiency?

"The Emperor watches over us…"

"Glory to the Emperor! Glory to the Master of Mankind!"

The soldiers gazed upward, as if the twisted, pipe-riddled darkness above them were instead an open sky filled with the light of the stars.

Watching their joy, Grey scratched at the side of his helmet, then turned to Qin Mo.

Qin Mo, sensing the look, turned as well and shrugged. "Desperate times… You understand."

Grey gave a slow, silent nod.

"Ahem."

Qin Mo cleared his throat, drawing all attention back to him. Reaching into the storage module of his jump pack, he retrieved a communications device.

"This is an integrated psyker-suppressing comms unit. Use it to stay in contact. If you encounter a psyker, get this as close to them as possible."

"Your generosity is boundless, my Lord." One of the officers reached out to receive the device. "What are your orders?"

"Hold the line." Qin Mo commanded.

"With all due respect, Lord, if we remain here, and the heretics launch another attack while you are elsewhere… we will be doomed."

"Hold the line." Qin Mo repeated, voice firm.

"…Understood." The officer nodded.

"I don't expect you to stand here like idiots and get annihilated."

Qin Mo stepped forward, selecting a relatively intact section of the battlefield. "Watch."

With a single motion, he activated his greatest ability.

Before the eyes of the stunned soldiers, a fortress materialized at impossible speed.

His mastery over his Power had only grown sharper—now, his range of material manipulation had quadrupled, accelerating the fortress's construction exponentially.

"Hold this position. If the situation becomes dire, use the comm unit to call for me.

I will arrive within a day. If I don't—then continue holding. This ground must not fall, no matter the cost. Hold. The. Line."

"You will only hear of this position's fall when every last man of the 87th and 31st has returned to the Golden Throne." The officer's gaze was unwavering, his grip tightening around his chainsword.