Aside from Qin Mo, every warrior clad in Thunderborn-pattern warplate had been deployed on deep strike operations—each venturing alone into the seething heart of heretic-infested territory.
For all five of them to be deployed at once was an extremely rare occurrence.
"What are the Lord Commander’s orders?" Grot rumbled, his heavy footfalls echoing against the charred ground as he marched alongside Grey. His gaze drifted to the strange weapon cradled in Grey’s gauntlets.
It bore some resemblance to an ignis-pattern flamethrower—yet… it was different.
Unlike the others, only Grey had been entrusted with this new wargear. Likewise, Qin Mo had given only him the mission parameters, instructing him to relay them once the squad was assembled.
Grey finally spoke. "The orders are simple."
He lifted the weapon slightly. "This device functions similarly to a flamer, but instead of promethium, it projects a specialized liquid compound. Our objective is clear—find the heretics and administer its effects."
The entire squad exchanged uncertain glances, confusion flickering in their visors.
"Yes and no." Grey shook his head. "The weapon is already in its final iteration. We're not here to test it—we’re here to use it. That said, we are also meant to observe its effects."
The explanation did little to clarify matters. If anything, it only deepened their unease.
After a long pause, Anruida voiced the most pressing concern.
"This weapon is clearly designed for the purging of heretics… but why target individual foes? At best, we’ll cull a handful—what purpose does that serve?"
Grey considered elaborating but ultimately chose not to. He was not one for grand explanations. Besides, some truths were best demonstrated rather than spoken.
Though Qin Mo had permitted them to spray any heretic they came across, Grey still believed it would be more effective to target high-ranking cultists.
That was why he had led the squad deep into enemy-held territory.
The team pressed forward.
Twelve kilometers later, Grey came to a halt before the crumbling husk of a once-grand structure. The others immediately fell into position, weapons at the ready.
Their bio-scanners detected a large concentration of heretics inside.
All of them gathered in one place. Their exact activities? Unknown.
"Seal every exit. No one gets out."
Grey hefted his weapon and strode toward the building.
Grot moved to the main entrance, his graviton hammer crackling as it primed for devastation. The others took up positions by the shattered windows, waiting for the command.
Inside, the heretics remained oblivious to their encirclement.
They knelt in rapturous worship, chanting in guttural tongues before a towering, four-armed effigy—an impossibly beautiful male statue, its features both divine and unnatural, sculpted with an allure that defied mortal comprehension.
Grey smirked beneath his helmet.
"Perfect opportunity."
He stepped forward, brushing Anreda aside, and steadied the weapon against the window frame.
The "Exterminator" was unlike anything in the Thunderborn arsenal—a sleek fusion of a flamer and a precision rifle, its ominous design betraying its advanced function.
Just before pulling the trigger, Grey imagined its effect—
Would the heretics be engulfed in a torrent of searing energy? Would they dissolve into nothingness, their bodies corroded instantly?
"Stop fantasizing and fire the damn thing!" Grot grunted impatiently.
A stream of iridescent blue liquid arced through the air, striking the exposed back of a kneeling heretic.
The cultist shivered, instinctively scratching at the damp spot on his robes. Then, confused, he turned to look out the window.
Grey, without hesitation, emptied the rest of the canister and bolted, dragging a reluctant Grot with him.
"Why aren’t we just purging them outright?" Grot complained.
"Because we need to see what the Exterminator truly does," Grey replied curtly.
The moment the heretics spotted their Thunderborn-armored adversaries, they abandoned their prayers and charged, screaming in frenzied devotion.
Grey led them on a deliberate chase, keeping just ahead while monitoring their condition.
They ran for several minutes—
One cultist staggered, his gait turning into a jerking, unnatural lurch. His legs swelled grotesquely, flesh distending as though something writhed beneath the skin.
Another let out an ear-piercing wail as his ribcage expanded outward, bones snapping audibly before his torso ruptured in a spray of viscera.
Others clawed at their own faces, their skulls ballooning, stretching.
Their entire bodies began to bloat, stretching like overfilled sacks.
One by one, the heretics burst like overripe fruit, their liquefied remains pooling into sickly blue puddles.
"Well," Anreda muttered, "that worked."
"If we mass-produce this and integrate it into flamers," Grot mused, "we could clear entire structures with ease."
The squad discussed the weapon’s potential, but Grey remained silent.
Because he knew something they didn’t.
He had only struck a handful of heretics.
Yet every single cultist in the building had perished.
Grey finally spoke, his tone grim.
"This weapon is far more potent than anticipated. This will be our first… and last time using it."
Grot laughed. "Because we’ve wiped out all the heretics in this sector, right?"
Grey said nothing. He simply turned and led the squad back.
On the transport back to base, no one dwelled on Grey’s ominous words.
Everyone, except Grey, believed the exterminator agent would soon enter mass deployment.
As the transport skimmed over a war-torn battlefield, Grot noticed something below.
Down below, amidst the ruins—
A heretic foot soldier suddenly exploded into blue liquid.
Grot blinked. Was it a hallucination?
"Wait… is someone else using the exterminator?" Grot asked.
"No," Grey replied, shaking his head. "We were the only ones issued the prototype."
Grot fell into deep thought.
Deep within the fortress, Qin Mo sat in his command chamber, reviewing intelligence reports from the frontlines.
Every frontline regiment reported the same phenomenon—
Cultists and xenos alike, dissolving mid-battle without any visible cause.
Even in freshly secured zones, heretic shrines and abandoned dwellingss bore evidence of heretics liquefying on their own.
The exterminator’s effect was undeniable.
There was no need for further adjustments.
The only thing left to do—was wait.
For the heretics were vanishing on their own.
In the meantime, Qin Mo turned his attention to anti-psyker technology.
He had the perfect test subject.
Vanessa, the captured psyker.
Beneath the fortress, in a sterile containment chamber, Vanessa lay strapped to a surgical slab, her eyes alight with amusement.
"So tell me, Lord Qin Mo—" she murmured, speaking as though this were idle conversation, as if she were not merely a test subject, bound and awaiting dissection.
"How does your Exterminator work? Why does it spread so quickly? Why don’t the heretics isolate the infected?"
Qin Mo barely glanced at her.
He already despised psykers.
But a talkative psyker? Even worse.
Vanessa smirked, sensing his irritation.
Qin Mo ignored her and focused on the data streaming across the console. His bio-scan flickered in real-time, feeding complex genetic and neural readings to the cogitator banks.
"You’re brilliant in biology, engineering… everything you touch turns to gold." She tilted her head. "But when it comes to the Warp? You’re completely clueless."
Qin Mo’s gaze darkened.
Yet, deep down, he couldn’t deny the truth—
He was completely ignorant when it came to the Warp.
He has some ideas how the Warp functioned from the lore—
But knowing and understanding were two different things.
Vanessa’s smirk widened.
"Get lost." Qin Mo scoffed. "I’m not interested in your heretical nonsense."