Still reeling from the chakra-triggered survival instinct that saved him, Elias stumbles onward — deeper into the hive tunnels. The System reveals new truths: no training mode, no safety net. Power comes only from facing death again and again. But Elias is reaching his limit… and Hive Helsreach is only just beginning to wake.
----
The glow-strips above flickered as Elias moved forward, casting uneven shadows over the corridor's torn grating and rusted metal plates. His steps were limping now — he was running on adrenaline and stubbornness, nothing more.
His hands trembled, not from fear this time, but from fatigue. Chakra, or whatever the hell it really was, didn't make him superhuman. Not yet. Not even close. It just helped him not die.
And even that felt like it had a price.
He found a side chamber — a collapsed maintenance alcove with half the ceiling caved in. The smell inside was marginally less horrific than the rest of the tunnels. No bodies. No rats.
Just silence.
Elias slid down against the wall, back pressed to cracked ferrocrete, and finally let himself breathe.
His body was wrecked. Arms bruised. Ribs seared every time he inhaled. His shoulder had taken a bad blow from the ganger's kick, and he was fairly certain his left knee was swelling. Blood clung to his knuckles. It wasn't his.
He held his hand in front of his face and flexed his fingers. Still shaking. Still warm.
Still alive.
A faint hum whispered across his mind. Then, once again, that clinical, detached voice echoed inside his skull — not as sound, but as thought.
> Host Body Condition: STABLE-CRITICAL
> Chakra Pool: 0.56 / 2.0
> System Functions: ACTIVE
> Training Protocols: DISABLED
> Progression Path: COMBAT-LINKED
> Learning Mode: NEAR-DEATH / TRAUMA-BASED
Elias exhaled slowly. "Combat-linked. Of course."
So this was no RPG tutorial.
There'd be no safe house. No meditation garden. No dojo on a mountaintop. Not in this place.
He'd learn new skills only when death knocked on the door — and only if he survived the conversation.
The System fed on survival.
No. That's not quite right, Elias corrected himself.
The System responds to survival. It's not feeding — it's recording. Measuring. Testing.
But to what end?
Why was he here?
Why reincarnate a human from Earth into this place — a sewer filled with fanatics and monsters, with a tactical HUD in his skull and ninja powers from a cartoon?
He chuckled, dryly. "Jesus, Mercer. You've cracked."
Then he winced. His side pulled tight with pain. Too soon for sarcasm.
He checked the satchel again. Inside: one remaining protein brick, water ration near empty, the scavenged revolver, and two speed-loaders of ammo.
It wasn't enough.
He wasn't enough.
Not yet.
He needed to move. Find a way out of the underhive. Find actual shelter. Figure out what planet this was, who the local authority was, and what kind of insane civilization thought chainsaw swords were a good idea.
But he didn't get far.
A sound stopped him cold.
Dripping.
No — tapping.
It came from the vent in the wall, high and narrow. Rhythmic. Measured. Almost like… footsteps.
Elias rose slowly, every instinct on edge. He moved toward the wall and climbed the debris pile until his eyes reached the broken vent grille.
Nothing.
Just darkness.
Then—
A hand reached out, slapping the grille.
Fingers long and raw. Flesh torn in strips. The nails replaced with shards of metal.
It gripped the edge.
A face appeared.
Not a human face.
It had once been human, maybe. But now it wore a stitched leather mask, fused to its skull with copper wire. No eyes. Just tubes running into its jaw. It hissed something wet and fast — not a word, but a need.
Elias didn't think.
He fired.
The shot echoed like a thunderclap. The bullet tore through the thing's neck, sending it jerking backward into the vent. A splash of dark liquid sprayed the wall.
The sound of the body falling echoed down the ductwork for several seconds.
Elias stared at the smoke rising from the revolver's barrel.
No chakra this time.
Just muscle memory. Training.
And a realization:
That wasn't a scavenger. Or a ganger. Or even a man.
Whatever it was, it was something else. Something twisted.
He climbed down, slowly, and looked around the alcove. Every shadow looked deeper. Every vent looked alive.
He couldn't stay here.
Not now.
Not ever.
A minute later, Elias reentered the main corridor.
He didn't limp anymore. Not because he wasn't injured — but because every second his instincts told him:
If you slow down, you die.
And death here doesn't come clean.
He passed through a pressure lock, climbed a broken stairwell, and found another corpse — this one in better shape. A uniform. Armored. With insignia.
A double-headed eagle.
Familiar. Terrifyingly so.
He stared at the symbol for a long time, trying to remember where he'd seen it before.
Warhammer, his mind whispered. Tabletop. Lore. 40K.
No.
No. It can't be.
That was fiction.
This was blood and bone and rot and pain.
But when he picked up the corpse's vox-unit, it crackled — and a voice came through:
"—Hive Helsreach. PDF Command to all units—Chaos breach in levels Theta and Omicron. Repeat, Chaos breach confirmed. Do not engage without flame support. Faith in the God-Emperor—"
Elias dropped the vox.
His stomach turned.
I'm in Warhammer 40K.
He leaned against the wall and laughed once.
Then twice.
Then he stopped.
Because down the corridor ahead, something massive roared.
[END OF PART 4]