The Next Day
By dawn, the orbital shipyard was fully operational.
Its dark metallic hull, a monolithic giant, loomed in the depths of the Underhive, awaiting its final activation sequence. Within its vast chambers, the remains of the fallen warriors were already stored, their ashes carefully sealed in stasis urns, prepared for interment among the stars.
It was now ready to be teleported into low planetary orbit, its dimensional engine primed for activation.
All defensive weapon systems and shields were already online, calibrated and synchronized, prepared to repel any enemy ships upon arrival.
In the depths of the fortress caverns of the Underhive, Qin Mo stood before the teleportation array, his power flowing into the control systems.
The Master AI, its logic-engine whirring with artificial thought, processed trillions of calculations analyzing gravitational drift, orbital tides, and potential enemy scan grids before selecting the optimal insertion point.
Beside him stood Creed, arms folded across his chest. The man who, just the night before, had forged a crucial pact with him.
His expression remained unreadable.
"Is it true that on Cadia, if you look up, you can always see the Eye of Terror?" Qin Mo asked, almost absent-mindedly.
Creed exhaled. "Yes."
He hesitated, then continued.
"And not just the Eye itself. There are… things. Screaming colors. Twisted geometries. Horrific patterns. Shapes that burn into your mind. Stare too long, and you start bleeding from your eyes, ears, nose… all of it."
Qin Mo frowned. "If I had to see that Warp Rift every day… I'd lose my mind. I hate the Warp."
Creed chuckled darkly. "Hive Cities exist on Cadia too, you know. Not everyone gets the chance to stare at the sky."
Their conversation drifted into silence as they turned their attention to the teleportation platform.
Before them stood a colossal cubic construct—a machine far beyond anything Creed had ever encountered. Its form was an enigma. Its purpose, clear only to Qin Mo.
Its construction? A mystery even to him. Creed had tried to study it before. Tried to understand its internal systems.
And yet, like so much of Tyrone Hive's technology, it defied explanation.
There was nothing to grasp, no schematic, no access panel, no interface that obeyed known physics. It might as well have been grown, not built.
....
"It's done."
Qin Mo stepped forward, his fingers dancing across a panel-mounted interface.
"Have your shipmaster bring the vessel into the shipyard," he said calmly.
Creed blinked. "That's it?"
As far as he could tell, Qin Mo had been casually chatting and now, suddenly, the shipyard was ready, operational, and waiting.
A display screen flickered to life, showing a live feed from the shipyard's external monitors.
A massive black sphere, unnaturally smooth and devoid of any seams, now drifted in orbit above the planet, a void among stars.
The feed originated from surveillance drones deployed around the shipyard, scouts designed to monitor enemy fleet movements and assist in strategic repositioning or automated defense protocols.
Creed activated his vox-link.
"Bring the ship in. The shipyard is right in front of you. You should be able to see it. It's hard to miss."
Far above, in the void, a merchant vessel adjusted course.
Compared to the shipyard, it was insignificant—a serpent slipping into a cavernous lair.
Qin Mo switched the feed to internal visuals.
Inside, the vessel was visibly dwarfed by sprawling, cathedral-like structures. Vaulted ceilings loomed above like the ribs of some ancient god, their spire-like frames pulsing with an eerie, green-tinged radiance.
As the ship passed through the entry port, beams of light lanced out, scanning its hull—probing for damage, radiation residue, and structural weaknesses.
Creed watched in silence.
"At least the damage is mostly external," Qin Mo remarked.
Creed observed as black metallic formations began to weave themselves into existence, seamlessly repairing the ship's wounded hull with an almost organic precision.
The material slithered across torn plating like liquid armor, sealing breaches in seconds.
His mind reeled.
"That's not adamantium, is it? Will it hold?"
Qin Mo shook his head. "An alloy. Lighter, self-healing, and more responsive under stress. It has its strengths and weaknesses compared to adamantium. But for repairs? More than sufficient."
Creed said nothing.
He observed the automated repair process, feeling as though his entire worldview was being rewritten.
"The ship will be ready shortly," Qin Mo said. "You and your men should teleport aboard and depart before the enemy detects the shipyard."
Creed nodded slowly.
He reached into his coat and retrieved a thick stack of dataslates and hand-written pages, bound with rough fiber cord.
"Time was short. I could only draft a preliminary plan, but I promise if you follow these instructions… you will forge an army on par with the Astra Militarum."
Qin Mo took the bundle, flipping through a few pages.
It wasn't just a training manual.
It was an entire strategic doctrine.
Creed had poured his soul into this plan.
The doctrine outlined the formation of shock units tailored for teleportation assaults.
It included strategies for integrating Tyrone Hive's technology with conventional tactics, suggesting even repurposing waste-processing drones for field logistics. A roadmap laid out the cultivation of military leadership over the long term, down to criteria for selecting sergeants from civilian ranks.
It might as well have been titled:
"A Young Lord Castellan's Guide to Raising an Elite Army."
Qin Mo nodded. His expression softened, just slightly. "Much appreciated."
Creed merely smiled, stepping onto a teleportation marker etched with glowing sigils. He didn't look back.
With a command gesture, Qin Mo activated the teleportation field..
In an instant, Creed and his battle-brothers vanished, reappearing aboard the now-repaired merchant vessel.
Through the display, Qin Mo watched as the now-restored ship maneuvered toward the shipyard's exit.
At a safe distance at the Mandeville Point of the Talon system, the vessel's prow shuddered, opening a gaping wound in reality, a passage into the Immaterium.
And then—
They were gone.
Qin Mo sighed.
He knew their journey would not be smooth.
Warp travel was never without risk.
But that was no longer his concern.
....
"Initiate the Shipbuilding Plan," Qin Mo ordered.
The Master AI's core pulsed in response, its synthetic heart glowing with synchronized energy surges, streams of data cascading across the holo-displays like rivers of light.
["Order acknowledged. Recording in progress."]
"One cruiser. Two frigates."
["Acknowledged. Estimated completion time: five months with current resource allocation."]
He gave a curt nod. "Begin selecting potential crew candidates immediately."
["Initiating aptitude assessments. Optimal personnel will be identified based on psychological stability, technical proficiency, and combat readiness."]
Qin Mo folded his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. He had no idea how the Master AI would conduct its selection process, its parameters were alien in scope, derived from his dimensional technology and refined through endless simulations.
But he trusted the outcome.
It understood every aspect of warship construction.
It would know who was best suited to command and crew them.
"Assign personnel to alloy production. Dispatch drones to construct industrial foundries for metallurgy, prioritize neutron-forged steel and void-tolerant composites."
["Acknowledged. Deploying fabrication units and initializing foundry schematics."]
The cavern fell silent once more, save for the distant thrum of power cores spinning up.
Qin Mo's mind turned to the future, the weight of time pressing against him like the void's own gravity.
From Creed's information, he estimated the current year to be roughly M41.989. The tail end of the 41st Millennium by the Imperial calendar, a time when each year was stamped with the dread of encroaching cataclysms.
That meant only one thing.
In a decade, Ursarkar E. Creed would become Lord Castellan of Cadia.
And more critically, Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos, wielder of the daemon sword Drach'nyen, would unleash the Thirteenth Black Crusade.
Ten years until Cadia's final stand.
The opening salvo of the Great Rift.
If Qin Mo wished to prevent its fall…
If he wanted to rewrite the future...
He had ten years.
Ten years to unite the Talon Sector.
Ten years to forge a navy worthy of the void.
Ten years to assemble an army strong enough to challenge the Despoiler.
The campaign to consolidate the sector was inevitable.
But Qin Mo had no intention of fighting a war of attrition.
Instead he was devising a superweapon.
A weapon based on dimensional technology.
Once Talon II fell under his control, he would unlock his research potential.
And then—
He would obliterate his remaining enemies on Talon III in one decisive stroke.
There would be no survivors. No resistance.
It didn't matter what False Gods they worshipped.
It didn't matter what banners they flew or what dogmas they screamed.
They would be erased.
By a weapon even the Star Gods would fear.