Warhammer 40,000: Echoes of Divinity

Meanwhile…

Grey patrolled the first floor of the fortress, his power armor's servos humming with every step.

His HUD flickered, tactical overlays mapping potential entry points, tracking movement, calculating threat vectors.

If the heretics attacked tonight—he would be ready.

As he approached the largest chamber, a familiar voice called out to him.

Grey turned.

It was Laun.

The regimental commander stood in the doorway, smiling.

"Got a moment to talk?"

Grey narrowed his eyes.

His gut instantly recoiled in disgust.

But then—

Something crossed his mind.

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I suppose I do."

....

Laun gestured him inside, the heavy bolt-locked door sealing shut behind them with a resounding clang.

Walking over to a small, scarred table, he uncorked a bottle and poured a glass of liquor.

One for himself.

One for Grey.

"What is this?"

Grey's gaze locked onto the drink, suspicion sharp in his voice.

"Just wine."

Laun smiled, offering the cup with both gauntleted hands.

Grey stared at the liquid.

Clear.

He had seen black wine.

He had seen orange wine.

But clear wine?

His instincts screamed caution.

"I've never seen a drink like this before."

Grey's voice was low, calculating.

"I didn't read much growing up, so don't try lying to me."

Laun chuckled but said nothing.

Grey raised the glass to his helmet, drawing in the aroma through its filtered vents.

The aroma hit him instantly.

His muscles tensed.

His mind fogged.

It was—

Exquisite.

After a long, weighted pause, Grey unsealed his helmet.

Then, in a single fluid motion—

He downed the glass.

"By the Emperor…"

His voice trembled as the rich, unexpected taste spread across his tongue.

"What… what in the Emperor's name is this…?"

The sheer luxury of the flavor startled him.

He feared how much he liked it.

He feared wanting more.

"Poor soul."

Laun smiled, shaking his head as if pitying a lost brother.

"It's just wine, soldier.

A simple fruit fermentation. A trivial indulgence.

Of course, to a gutterborn like you, it must taste like a dream."

Then, he did something unthinkable.

Laun handed him the rest of the bottle.

....

Grey hesitated

For a moment, his mind raced through memories and the hard-edged lessons of the hive.

Then—

"Thank you, sir."

He took the bottle with both hands, carefully storing it inside his jump pack as if it were a rare relic.

Their conversation shifted in tone.

Grey no longer glared.

His hostility softened—if only slightly.

Laun observed his reaction with the precision of a master manipulator.

He had baited the hook.

Now, it was time to reel him in.

"Did you know?"

Laun began casually, his voice carrying the weight of forbidden fraternities.

"The Governor's cousin's wife is my sister."

Grey's expression shifted.

"Then why are you here?"

He cut him off immediately.

"Why would a noble like you be thrown into this mess?"

Laun's smile didn't falter.

"It was the Marshal's fault." He dismissed the concern with a flick of his hand, as though swatting away a minor contamination.

"He was reckless. He overextended. The Governor had nothing to do with it."

A pause.

Then, smoothly—he transitioned to his true proposition.

"When we get out of here… I will personally recommend you for promotion."

He let the words linger.

"A general's rank, no less."

....

Grey stared, his eyes burning with a hunger that belied his conditioned stoicism beneath the helmet.

A general?

A noble?

That was everything a lower-hive soldier could never dream of.

If he accepted—

He could take his family.

He could leave the filth of the lower hive behind.

Forever.

"But you understand, of course."

Laun's voice softened, his words weaving an insidious net around Grey's troubled thoughts.

"This is a transaction.

A trade.

You must give something in return.

Something trivial to me—

Yet crucial, in this moment."

Grey's fingers curled into a tight fist.

"…What?"

Laun leaned in close, his tone conspiratorial.

"Loyalty."

Grey remained silent.

He looked down, lost in thought.

Laun wasn't troubled by the pause.

He was a master manipulator.

To him, Grey was simply an unrefined mind, bound by worthless relationships holding him back from making the logical choice.

All he had to do was apply a little more pressure.

"No need to answer now."

Laun smiled knowingly.

"Tomorrow, I will visit the other defensive positions.

I will introduce myself.

I will make it clear to every soldier that a true commander has arrived.

That commander is me."

Grey remained mute.

"You should come with me."

Laun finally made his move.

"Bring your armor. Bring the others.

Stand at my side."

Then, he waited.

If Grey agreed—

Then he desired power.

He might not be ready to betray Qin Mo just yet.

But eventually, he would.

Laun was sure of it.

Grey slowly rose to his feet.

He walked to the door.

Laun sighed, a hint of disappointment in his measured tone.

He thought Grey was going to reject him.

But then—

Grey pushed the door open.

He gestured outward with a measured firmness.

"I am a soldier. It is my duty to obey orders, sir."

Laun smiled in triumph.

"Excellent, soldier!"

He strode into the corridor, hands clasped behind his back, his gait exuding the arrogance of one accustomed to command.

The sheer arrogance in his stride was amplified by Grey walking behind him.

Laun was pleased.

He never noticed the sheer hatred hidden beneath Grey's helmet.

....

Next Door

In her private quarters, Riley sat alone.

Unlike Laun, she had been given a fully equipped suite—a leftover from the building's pre-fortress days.

She had locked the door securely.

She had showered.

The fortress still had running water.

Not clean water—it reeked of chemical filtration.

But in the Underhive?

It was a luxury.

Now, she lay on her narrow cot, replaying the day's grim events in her mind like a broken holorecord.

Then—

She remembered something.

When Qin Mo removed his helmet, revealing his face—

She had recognized him.

Not as a savior.

Not as a hero.

But as someone she had seen before.

As someone Dangerous.

Her instincts screamed a warning like the klaxon of a malfunctioning servitor.

She retrieved her Arbites-issued data-slate with practiced precision.

Her fingers danced swiftly through the labyrinthine legal archives.

She searched for one name.

Qin Mo.

One result.

‹[File: Prisoner 444]

[Name: Qin Mo]

[Crime: Unauthorized psyker activity. Attempted murder via warp-based abilities.]›

A mugshot loaded onto the screen.

It was him.

Her blood ran cold.

"Prisoner 444…"

Her hands trembled.

She had been there.

She had helped capture him.

And now, inexplicably, he was here.

She bolted upright, hastily donning her uniform.

Then, she rushed out into the dimly lit hall.

She needed to warn Laun.

She needed to tell him.

Qin Mo was a psyker.

A criminal.

A monster.

But as she burst into Laun's chambers—

It was empty.

"Laun already left."

A rumbling voice echoed behind her.

It was Grot.

The battle-worn, power-armoured veteran peered down at her with a mix of disdain and duty.

"If you have urgent business, report it to Qin Mo."

Riley's throat constricted with dread.

She tried to retreat.

But another voice, smooth and chilling, whispered—

"Why not tell Laun in person?"

She froze.

She turned slowly.

Qin Mo smiled—a smile both disarming and foreboding.

He offered his hand.

"Come with me, miss."