Warhammer 40,000: Echoes of Divinity

As they neared the writhing mass of mutants, the once-confident Imperial infantrymen grew tense.

 Even with their lasguns primed and their ceramite-reinforced armor glinting under the pale light of distant orbital flare, a deep and unshakable dread settled over them.

Before the counteroffensive, these grotesque, near-unkillable abominations had stalked the dark corridors of the underhive and the derelict ruins of hive cities, tearing apart squads with an almost supernatural ferocity.

Every soldier had seen, or at least heard the echoes of, comrades ripped limb from limb

To these men and woman, the mutants were nothing short of monsters.

Manifestations of xenos corruption that defied all natural order.

But to Grot?

They were only slightly thicker than other enemies after being crushed beneath his gravitic hammer.

....

"BOOM∼!"

Grot bellowed, the resounding strike of his thunderous Warhammer reverberating through the crumbling corridors, instantly drawing the malignant horde's attention.

The mass of mutants turned toward him, sluggish, eyes hollow—

And then, as if suddenly remembering something, their bodies convulsed with feral rage.

They howled, their movements jerky and erratic, a mindless wave of biomass surging forward.

"Come on, you xenos bastards."

Grot tightened his grip on his gravitic hammer, his jump pack roaring to life as he charged.

The first two mutants barely had time to react before Grot's armored bulk slammed into them.

They were sent flying, their twisted forms cratering into the ferrocrete walls.

And then—

He swung.

The grav-hammer moved without pause.

The sheer gravitational force of its impact pulled everything within its arc into a crushing singularity, sending mutants splattering against the walls like insects caught in a storm.

Grot moved like a living avalanche, his brutal efficiency undeniable.

Sometimes, he weaved past clawed swipes with grace surprising for his size.

Other times, he shoulder-checked a mutant, sending it staggering from the force of his thruster-assisted bulk.

Each staggered foe was met with a skull-caving hammer strike, their heads compressed to their waistlines in an instant.

A lunging mutant leapt for his flank—

Grot dropped low, drove a gauntleted hand into its gut, and discharged his scatter-laser.

The dense plasma bolts punched through flesh, turning organs and bone into superheated sludge.

Another mutant fell.

Another.

And another.

The slaughter continued, with Grot only activating his gravitic shield when truly necessary.

When exhaustion finally set in, he holstered his hammer, raised his shoulder-mounted cannons, and erased everything in his line of fire.

The carnage was absolute.

....

"That's it."

Grot exhaled, surveying the mountain of corpses around him.

The mutants were nothing but splintered bone and liquefied remains.

A officer stepped forward, gesturing toward the once-blocked sealed chamber.

"Sir, you should check what's inside that room."

Grot blinked.

"Ah∼. Right. Almost forgot."

He strode toward the sealed metal door, hoisting his grav-hammer—

And swung.

The air cracked from the impact force—but the door didn't budge.

"...Huh∼?"

A pause.

Grot stepped back, adjusting into a charging stance.

His jump pack ignited, sending him hurtling forward like a human battering ram.

His shoulder hit first.

For the first time in his life as Thunderborn, he felt resistance.

He gritted his teeth, activating his gravitic shield, attempting to crush the obstruction through sheer force—

But instead of shattering—

The walls around it collapsed.

The door remained standing.

"…The hell?"

Grot stared at it, then shrugged and simply walked around it.

....

Inside the Chamber

The room was silent.

No mutants.

No horrors.

No sign of what the creatures had been guarding.

Just—

A bed.

And on it—

A blonde woman whose features shone with an untainted grace, unmarred by the hive-rot or the debilitating scars of radiation that so commonly afflicted the denizens of the underhive.

She is clad in an ill-fitting, tattered imperial uniform.

A human.

Grot's HUD scanners immediately activated, running a biometric analysis.

[Skeletal structure: Human standard.

Bio-signs: Stable.

Classification: HUMAN, unmodified.]

Grot exhaled.

"...By the Emperor. What the hell is this?"

The company officer stepped forward, draping his jacket over her form.

"I don't know who she is," he murmured. "But I think we should get her somewhere safe."

Grot nodded.

That was the right call.

He lifted her over his shoulder, carried her out of the bunker, and loaded her onto the waiting transport.

Combat drones hovered overhead, ensuring absolute security.

....

Fortress—Hours Later

"We don't know her identity—no ident-tags, no gang sigils—she was unconscious when we recovered her.

I wouldn't normally disturb your research, Lord Commander, but I believe you should be made aware of this."

A garrison soldier escorted Qin Mo through the fortress corridors.

They arrived at a reinforced well-furnished chamber, previously used by Lorne.

A guard stood watch.

Qin Mo entered.

....

Inside the Room

The woman was awake.

She sat upon the bed, a military officer beside her, offering her a glass of relatively clean water.

"Lord Commander, she just woke up."

The moment Qin Mo stepped inside, the officer stood and snapped a flawless Aquila salute, then exited—

But not before glancing back at the woman with an odd sense of reverence.

Qin Mo narrowed his eyes.

These were seasoned warriors.

They had butchered xenos and heretics alike.

Why were they treating her with respect?

The only explanation—

She was a psyker.

And she was manipulating their emotions.

....

Qin Mo sat in front of her, meeting her gaze.

He could feel it now.

She was a psyker.

But there was no trace of outright hostility.

"You're a psyker."

His tone was calm.

"Civilians are a rare sight in the underhive. Were you part of a gang? A bounty hunter?"

The woman's lips curled slightly.

"You may call me Vanessa."

She evaded the question entirely.

Qin Mo's expression darkened.

He was about to press further when—

She smiled.

And then—

She spoke.

"You've led an army that should have been annihilated."

"You've fought against impossible odds and endured."

"Well done… prisoner."

A cold silence.

In an instant, Qin Mo's hand shot forward, clamping around her throat.

His voice was low, lethal.

"How do you know who I am? You have three seconds to answer before I burn you to ash."

Vanessa choked, gasped, her hands clawing at his wrist.

"F…from… from your Thunderborn… the one called Grot…!"

Qin Mo's grip tightened.

"Looks like I'll need to prioritize developing an advanced psychic nullifier."

His eyes gleamed coldly.

"Any last words, psyker?"