Warhammer: Echoes of Divinity

As the warship turned to retreat, the station’s heavy cannon spat forth a blazing lance of energy, its incandescent beam so intense it momentarily outshone the stars.

But the crackling Void Shields of the Lunar-class cruiser flared to life, casting fractured, prismatic light across its armored hull as the weapon’s searing force slammed into the etheric barrier.

The attack’s fury was redistributed through subspace conduits, diverted into the Warp with a howling thunderclap of displaced energy.

A standard Lunar-class Void Shield could absorb multiple gigaton-level impacts, enough energy to vaporize a city before overloading.

But this was no standard barrage.

Internally, the shield grid vibrated with a rising whine as the energy matrix strained under the load, each roaring terajoule of plasma painstakingly converted into harmless field excitation.

The shield’s capacitors flared with an unnatural blue in the ship’s engineering sanctum, venting heat through colossal plasma sinks as machine-spirits labored to maintain cohesion with anxious flickers of warning runes across cogitator screens.

The ship's artificial gravities buckled momentarily under the impact, but behind the screen of etheric force, its bulk remained unscathed, the structural braces groaning as the hull plating resisted deformation with stubborn resilience.

A second blast followed, again intercepted by the Void Shields.

The station continued firing, while the cruiser kept maneuvering away.

Energy lances stitched fiery scars across the shielded void, each impact louder and closer than the last.

After enduring seven consecutive strikes, the Void Shields finally collapsed in a coruscating cascade of white-hot technoplasmic discharge, momentarily exposing the ship’s vulnerable hull to the cold void of space.

The eighth blast tore through the left flank of the vessel, ripping from stern to bow.

Armor plating vaporized in an instant, and with it, every weapon emplacement along that section was reduced to little more than slag drifting through the void.

Chunks of glowing debris spun outward, trailing vaporized ceramite and venting atmosphere, forming a temporary halo of wreckage around the wounded cruiser.

Inside the bridge, the crew felt the ship tremble violently, the decks shuddering as the secondary detonations from breached ammo magazines echoed through the corridors.

Red emergency lumen-strips flared to life, bathing the control deck in a blood-hued glow, their light casting long, twitching shadows across the grim faces of the command crew.

Explosions rippled through the lower decks, each rupture a stark reminder that, without the Void Shields, even the stoutest hull was as brittle as glass.

The captain immediately barked a series of orders:

"Seal off compromised sections and vent them into vacuum to extinguish fires."

“Reinitialize Void Shields as quickly as possible, reroute all auxiliary power to the warp reactor! That’s our only hope to reboot them before the next barrage.”

“Disperse personnel and servitors throughout the ship to minimize casualties from potential secondary strikes; section leaders, report evacuation status within 30 seconds!”

“Above all else, prepare for Warp transit. NOW! I want that drive primed and screaming by the time we hit minimum safe distance!”

The warship continued its desperate flight, enduring the barrage of energy lances, until all preparations were complete.

Each new impact bloomed across the hull like silent nova flares, shaking the vessel but failing to break its resolve.

An officer at the comms station turned. “Shield emitters are flickering back online. Subspace capacitors are charging!”

Finally, with preparations complete, the ship's warp drives roared to life.

A low-frequency hum grew into a deafening roar as the Gellar Field and Void Shield generators synchronized, enveloping the vessel in twin layers of defense against the dangers of realspace and the Immaterium.

Reality itself tore asunder as the Gellar Field surged, enveloping the vessel in a protective cocoon against the unspeakable horrors of the Immaterium.

In a final burst of etheric energy, the cruiser vanished into the Warp, slipping beyond the station’s reach.

Back in orbit, the station’s cannon ceased its fire, its targeting systems resetting as the last echoes of the Void Shield resonance faded. The glowing energy dissipated.

Its structure continued its silent rotation, as if it had never been attacked, or had never struck at all.

....

[Detected incoming hostile vessel. Initiating defensive protocols.]

[Particle lances charging…]

[Charging complete.]

[First volley fired. Damage assessment: intercepted by Void Shields.]

"…"

Deep within the fortress tunnels, Qin Mo sat in quiet contemplation, watching a recording of the battle unfold on his display.

The footage was from the orbital shipyard, captured from its primary control systems.

It showed the exact moment the enemy vessel engaged, detailing the station’s automated defensive response.

The primary defense system, a smaller-scale particle lance, had been installed primarily for surface-to-orbit counterstrikes, not prolonged ship-to-ship warfare.

The station’s shield was an entirely different technology from standard Void Shields, utilizing a unique energy barrier.

However, one anomaly caught Qin Mo’s attention.

During the enemy’s only offensive action, one torpedo and two macrocannon shells had vanished mid-flight.

As if something had simply erased them from existence.

There had been no impact signature, no electromagnetic disruption, not even a gravitational lensing anomaly; just sudden, inexplicable absence.

“It was almost like... a hidden countermeasure system was triggered,” he mused.

The effect had been minimal, too inconsistent to be truly effective. It was clear that this phenomenon had little impact on the overall battle.

But the real problem was this:

Qin Mo had no recollection of installing any system capable of making enemy attacks simply disappear.

["I detected a Warp anomaly before the shield activated,"] the station’s AI core stated.

"A Warp anomaly? Could it be the sanctified ash of the Fallen?" Qin Mo laughed.

["Possibly,"] the AI core responded. ["Across New Kato and the Lowerhive, the daily ritual of honoring the Fallen has become a widespread practice."]

Qin Mo fell silent, deep in thought.

Could it really be the memorialized ashes of the dead at work?

If so, their effect remained minuscule, only nullifying a handful of attacks. Even if this phenomenon evolved over the next decades, its impact would likely remain limited.

But even the smallest advantage was worth acknowledging.

....

"How is the shipbuilding progressing?" Qin Mo inquired.

["Frigate production is at 30%. Cruiser construction has reached 20%. Based on current rates, estimated completion is seventy hours ahead of schedule,"] the AI core reported.

Qin Mo nodded in approval.

As soon as the ships were ready, an assault on Talon II could begin.

Once launched, the orbital shipyard could be equipped with planetary bombardment weapons and teleported into Talon II’s orbit, enabling the conquest of an entire world, which would be far easier than reclaiming Talon I.

Satisfied, Qin Mo turned his focus back to the development of a planetary-scale extermination weapon, one that could wipe out every remaining enemy on Talon III.

Destroying the planet was not an option, not when there were only three habitable worlds in the Talon system, and this one needed to be preserved.

["The crew selection process is nearly complete,"] the AI core added. ["One candidate stands out: Adam, age 34. He ranked among the top in every test. His psychological stability is exceptional, making him an ideal warship operator. He is impervious to emotional instability, ensuring optimal efficiency in high-pressure combat scenarios."]

"Begin his training immediately. I want them ready to command the ships the moment they launch."

["Understood."]

....

At the Mechanized Repair Facility, the technicians and workers huddled around a data terminal, eagerly watching the latest war updates.

News of the orbital shipyard repelling a Lunar-class cruiser had yet to spread, but the ongoing victories in the Upper Hive sewer war were enough to lift everyone's spirits.

Among them was Grot, who clenched his fist and cheered along with the others, though he quickly suppressed his excitement.

"Grot, someone’s looking for you," a coworker tapped his shoulder, gesturing toward the factory entrance.

A stern-faced officer stood at the doorway, silent and motionless, his gaze cold and unyielding.

He wasn’t wearing power armor, but a combat uniform, sleek and angular, unmistakably military.

"Adam!" Grot immediately recognized him.

The officer’s expression didn’t change.

"Good afternoon, Grot," he greeted, his voice devoid of warmth.

The two had known each other for some time.

Whenever Adam had free time, he would visit the factory, offering specialized training to Grot.

That training had one purpose: teaching Grot how to control his emotions.

As they stepped outside, Adam spoke without preamble:

"After today, another will take my place to continue your training."

"Where are you going? Did the Lord Commander form another new unit?" Grot asked, puzzled.

"I have been chosen by the Angel to serve as a warship crewman. My training begins soon."

Grot’s eyes widened.

Being selected for a warship crew was an incredible honor.

"That’s amazing!" he said earnestly.

But Adam remained expressionless, delivering the news with mechanical detachment.

It was typical of those among the Devotees of the Angel of Creation, individuals like Adam suppressed their emotions and desires, abandoning all personal indulgences.

Grot had even heard rumors that some of them would sneak out of mandatory leisure sessions, instead choosing to observe and study combat logistics.

"I still don’t understand," Grot admitted. "Why are you training me?"

Adam’s response was as cold as ever.

"Because you were once a Thunderborn, One of His mortal emissaries. But you lost your place among them, for you are too distant from His Divine Will. Yet, you are not beyond redemption."

Grot lowered his gaze.

Redemption.

He had never given voice to the thought, never admitted how much the loss of his former standing had weighed upon him. He had told himself he didn’t care, that factory work was enough, that survival was all that mattered.

But it wasn’t.

He was reluctant to associate with the Devotees, but he was willing to do whatever it took to reclaim his place as a Thunderborn, or at least as a soldier once more.

Anything was better than wasting away in a factory.

"Our studies of your past behavior indicate that you become excessively excitable in combat," Adam continued. "You lack restraint. You allow emotion to dictate your actions." A pause. "This flaw can be corrected."

Grot exhaled slowly. "How?"

"We have prepared a facility and a specialized training regimen to temper your deficiencies."

"Fine. Take me there."

Without hesitation, Grot followed Adam into the unknown, each step carrying him further from his old life and closer to the war that would define his fate.