Day 184, Year 988 of the 41st Millennium
Opel III
Hive Orion
Lower Hive
Bang Bang Bang!!!!
At the deafening roar of the first boltgun round, the nearest gang member dropped instantly, a fist-sized crater blown squarely through his chest. The mass-reactive, micro-rocket projectile punched effortlessly through crude armor, bone, and tissue before detonating internally to inflict maximum carnage. Several other gangers, still paralyzed by the sudden ambush, were quickly turned into the next wave of corpses. The House Guard's augmetic arm vibrated heavily under the immense recoil of the sustained automatic fire.
Right behind the initial barrage, the remaining two House Guards and Omega stormed into the room, firing at anything that twitched. One Guard wielded a combat shotgun, the other a hot-shot lasgun, while Omega leveled his autogun. Their aim and trigger pulls were rapid and lethally precise, born of relentless combat conditioning.
The ruby-red beam from the hot-shot lasgun sheared through scrap-metal armor like butter, leaving searing, fist-sized holes in its targets.
The shotgun-wielding Guard ruthlessly smashed the stock of his weapon into a ganger's face, dropping the man instantly before executing him with a point-blank blast.
Even though Omega wasn't using his preferred armament, he handled the heavy autogun with deadly, practiced fluency.
Meanwhile, Por'el and Ritus scrambled behind an overturned sofa in a state of sheer panic. And Eric? He remained safely at the rear, positioned near the edge of the breached wall, laying down suppressive fire with his laspistol.
Amidst the chaos, the Fire Caste T'au raised his pulse carbine and fired a searing plasma blast at the bolter-wielding House Guard. The strike killed the guardsman instantly, his death horrific as both carapace armor and flesh were flash-melted by the immense heat. But before the alien could acquire another target, Omega leveled his autogun and squeezed the trigger.
The heavy-caliber round—boasting far more stopping power and destructive force than standard assault rifle ammunition—punched cleanly through the lens of the Fire Warrior's helmet, killing the T'au instantly.
Suddenly, the Kroot mercenary moved. It was terrifyingly fast. Possessing the agility and raw physical strength capable of slaughtering an unwary Space Marine, the avian-reptilian alien rapidly closed the distance to the nearest House Guard. The shotgun-wielding Guard tracked the blur of motion and pulled the trigger.
Click-Bang!!!!
But before the lethal spread of buckshot could even clear the barrel, the Kroot was already upon him. With a savage, spinning strike, the alien used the bladed attachment of its rifle to cleave the shotgun in two, following through with a decapitating swing that severed the Guard's head from his shoulders. He had been too slow.
Omega prepared to crush the xenos with his psychic might. No matter how physically resilient the creature was, it could not withstand raw warp-force. But suddenly, a spike of agonizing pain tore through Omega's mind, accompanied by the maddening, amplified whispers of demons—a severe recurrence of his recent psychic backlash. He staggered, collapsing to his knees.
Seeing the psyker falter, the Kroot seized the opportunity. Initially, it had prepared to evade, knowing full well that a psyker was a terrifyingly lethal opponent capable of turning the tide of any battle single-handedly. But with the enemy leader temporarily incapacitated, the alien saw not only an opening but a prime feast. It lunged forward, unwilling to let the chance slip away.
Seeing Omega drop, Eric immediately snapped his weapon toward the humanoid alien with the avian head and reptilian skin... no, he had to call it a *xenos*.
Eric didn't overthink it; he provided covering fire immediately. In most combat scenarios, his instinct was to aim for center mass, as headshots on a rapidly moving target were too risky and likely to miss. The ruby-red beam from his laspistol struck the creature's chest, hitting a thin plate of metal armor. Then, the unexpected happened.
The laser, which should have melted through the crude iron and killed the beast in a single shot, merely left a faint scorch mark. The weapon that could fell most human gangers in similar armor only managed to heat the alien's plating.
Eric refused to waste precious seconds standing there in shock. He tried to adjust his aim to an unarmored spot, but the xenos was moving far too erratically.
Before the Kroot could reach Omega, Eric had to cease fire. The sole surviving House Guard had discarded his primary weapon, drawn a sword, and charged the beast.
The Guard barely parried the blade aimed at Omega's neck, deflecting it with incredible strength before closing the distance to attempt his own decapitating strike.
Ordinarily, a baseline human stood no chance against a fully grown Kroot in a contest of strength. However, House Guards frequently underwent extensive cybernetic and augmetic augmentations to their limbs, allowing them to easily handle heavy weaponry like hot-shot lasguns without fatigue. Furthermore, hailing from noble families under the Korvax banner, they had the wealth and freedom to extensively modify their bodies.
The House Guard and the Kroot clashed furiously, evenly matched. They traded lightning-fast blows, the Kroot attacking with savage precision and brute force, while the Guard utilized his highly trained swordsmanship to mitigate his slight disadvantage in raw strength. Neither side seemed able to gain the upper hand.
As Eric watched this staggering display of skill and speed, he checked on Omega, who was struggling back to his feet. Eric swept the room for other threats. Most of the occupants were dead, the floor littered with corpses, but he didn't lower his guard. Suddenly, he spotted a wide-brimmed white hat slowly rising from behind some furniture. Experience told him it was the posture of someone preparing to pop out of cover and ambush them.
Without hesitating, Eric leveled his weapon at the hat and pulled the trigger. The laser beam blew the target's head clean off, killing him instantly. But in that exact moment, another surviving ganger lunged from a different piece of cover, swinging a chainaxe in a vicious diagonal arc, intent on cleaving Eric in two.
Relying on his rapid reflexes, Eric didn't hesitate to use his lasgun's chassis to block the screaming teeth of the chainaxe.
His arms shook violently as the weapon struck the metal frame, but he held his grip firm. The chainsaw teeth immediately began biting into the gun, severely damaging the casing. The ganger roared in fury, pressing down with all his might.
Eric gritted his teeth, holding the line. He couldn't deny the terrifying reality: he was physically weaker than the enraged, muscular ganger pushing against him.
Within seconds, the chainaxe chewed entirely through the lasgun, splitting it in half. Eric narrowly stepped back to evade the follow-through, immediately capitalizing on the ganger's loss of momentum.
Pew! Pew! Pew!
Eric quickly drew his hellpistol and fired multiple point-blank shots into the ganger. The man dropped instantly, his body riddled with massive, smoking craters. The destructive result was slightly more than Eric had anticipated.
He looked at the heavy pistol in his hands, genuinely impressed, before turning his attention back to the sole remaining fight in the room. Omega was standing nearby, watching the duel without intervening—perhaps afraid of hitting his own man, or perhaps for some other calculated reason.
*Normally, a laspistol doesn't have this much stopping power... I'm really starting to like this gun,* Eric thought, despite it being a bit heavier than a standard pistol.
The House Guard parried the Kroot once more. His posture suggested he was enjoying the thrill of the duel rather than treating it with grim necessity. Every strike, slash, and deflection seemed calculated to prolong the fight.
To an observer, it was a foolish tactic; playing with your food in a life-or-death scenario only gave the enemy a chance to observe your weaknesses and exploit them.
Realizing he needed to end it, the Guard finally shifted to a defensive stance. Sensing the shift, the Kroot pressed the attack violently. The sheer force of the blows sent tremors down the Guard's arm, his grip faltering.
A particularly brutal strike forced the Guard to leave himself open. The Kroot swung its bladed rifle in a lethal diagonal arc—a guaranteed death blow that would easily slice the man in half, even if he managed to block it.
A Kroot's physical strength rivaled that of an Astartes. Even Space Marines in power armor were vulnerable to their vicious claws and beaks.
In the microsecond before the blade decapitated the Guard, a red beam from Eric's hellpistol struck the alien's shoulder. While a laser lacked the kinetic stopping power to physically halt the blade, the sudden burn caused the Kroot's swing to deviate by just a few millimeters.
It was just enough. The House Guard narrowly dodged the fatal blow, but the high-velocity blade still sheared through his right arm, severing it almost completely.
Yet, instead of crimson blood, black machine oil and hydraulic fluid spurted from the wound. The Guard didn't even flinch; he immediately launched a counterattack.
The ordinary-looking blade in his hand suddenly crackled with miniature arcs of lightning, enveloping itself in a power field much like the axe wielded by Cronos.
With a single, fluid strike, the power sword effortlessly cleaved the Kroot in two, bisecting it like a hot knife through butter. The alien's upper half crashed to the floor, spilling its internal organs.
The room fell silent. Eric, Omega, and the maimed House Guard were the only three left standing amidst the sea of corpses. Omega remained impassive about the brutal duel; he simply raised his autogun and put a single insurance round into every body on the floor to prevent any surprises from those playing dead.
The House Guard stood still for a moment, breathing heavily as the adrenaline began to wear off. He turned to Eric and offered a brief word of thanks.
"Much obliged, My Lady. Haha, I'd have been a goner without you," the Guard chuckled dryly. Despite the horrific damage to his cybernetic arm, he casually drove his sword into a nearby corpse just to be sure.
"It's nothing... I just did what I had to do," Eric replied nervously. To him, it was a minor intervention; if he had been in the Guard's position, he would have died in the first second.
Suddenly, Eric's ears caught a faint noise. He raised his hellpistol and approached the sofa that Omega had seemingly ignored—even though it should have been the first place checked. He crept closer cautiously.
He almost pulled the trigger but lowered his weapon when he saw the source of the noise: a man in extravagant, aristocratic clothing cowering behind the furniture, terrified out of his mind.
The nobleman was curled into a fetal position, hugging his knees and weeping softly in fear of what was to come.
Eric hesitated, unsure of what to do with him. But considering this man was in the final VIP room they had to clear, there was a high probability he was either a key backer of the Iron Fangs, a gang member himself, or the exact target Omega was looking for—the whole reason Eric hadn't been allowed to extract after killing Cronos.
Eric quickly made up his mind. He would kill this noble right now so he could finally go back to his comfortable life in the Upper Hive. He just wanted to go back to being an accountant with a crappy typewriter, far away from guns and suicide missions.
He aimed his pistol at the noble's head. His index finger tightened on the trigger.
"Stop," Omega commanded, stepping forward, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.
Hearing Omega's voice and approaching footsteps, the nobleman looked up. His already terrified, pale face drained of all remaining color the moment he recognized Omega, the left hand of Lord Valen Korvax.
Ritus looked completely wretched, sweat pouring down his face. Yet, despite being moments away from death, his ingrained aristocratic arrogance flared up. He tried to yell his way out of execution, desperate to assert his importance.
"Stay back, you mutant! You can't touch me! I am a confidant of Lord Thalric! You and your master will be in deep trouble if anything happens to me! You have no right—" Ritus's rant died in his throat when he saw Omega continuing his steady approach, completely unfazed by the useless threat.
Omega wasn't intimidated in the slightest. This was a man who casually traded veiled insults with the most powerful nobles and House leaders on the planet. The desperate threats of a single aristocrat meant absolutely nothing to him.
Seeing Omega's cold indifference, Ritus's arrogant facade completely crumbled. It was replaced by pathetic, miserable begging for his life.
"Please, don't kill me! Spare my life! I don't want to die!" Ritus shrieked, his voice pitching high and trembling with terror. He scrambled backward across the floor until his back hit the metal wall.
Such a pitiful sight might have made a normal person or an inexperienced soldier hesitate. Even Eric felt a twinge of reluctance, though he still would have pulled the trigger. Omega, however, felt nothing. He raised his autogun and aimed it squarely at Ritus's head without uttering a single word.
But he paused when Ritus screamed something genuinely valuable.
"Please! Spare me! I have vital intelligence!" Ritus hollered in absolute despair, staring down the barrel of the gun. His words caused Omega's finger to slip slightly off the trigger. Seeing the mutant hesitate, Ritus frantically continued.
"I have the names of the people involved in the rebellion! And... and information on those xenos! I'll tell you everything about who is backing the insurgents!"
Omega lowered his weapon a fraction, processing the new intel. His original orders were to execute Ritus based on intel from a rebel leader marking him as a primary backer. But now, Ritus was claiming he knew the rest of the conspiratorial network. Taking him alive for interrogation was vastly more valuable than leaving him as a corpse.
THWACK.
Without a word, Omega whipped the stock of his autogun into the back of Ritus's neck with calculated force. The noble instantly went limp, collapsing unconscious onto the deck.
Omega ordered his subordinate to haul Ritus over his shoulder and signaled an immediate extraction. The longer they stayed, the higher the risk of Iron Fang reinforcements arriving from other sectors of the base. They were low on ammo and now burdened with a VIP.
They scavenged what useful gear they could, completely ignoring the dog tags and bodies of the fallen House Guards.
Watching the scene play out, Eric breathed a silent sigh of relief. Finally, he could go back to his easy life in the Upper Hive. Back to accounting, good food, clean bathrooms, and reading books peacefully in his quarters, far away from filthy assassin work in these rotting depths.
Eric then offered what he thought was the most logical advice.
"Uh... I think extracting through the secret tunnels would be a much better, lower-risk idea. I know the hidden route I used to sneak in here."
____________________________________
In a dark alleyway, Raul, clad in a long black hooded cloak, walked ahead of a servitor carrying his most precious personal treasures. Raul carefully scanned every cross-alley and corridor, checking the ceiling and the floor pipes as well. There was no telling when an ambush might occur or what might drop down from above.
The lasgun in his hands was ready to be raised and fired at a moment's notice, even though he knew full well his reaction time was far too slow to shoot back if he was attacked first.
His journey seemed smoother than usual, for whatever reason. Perhaps Erica had done something at the Iron Fang base, causing most of the gang members to abandon their patrol routes. Judging by the periodic sounds of explosions echoing through the hive, the fighting over there had to be incredibly fierce.
Eventually, he had to pass through a specific sector that was in a severely dilapidated state. The walkway here was made of grating and other standard Hive City materials, but several sections of the floor were entirely missing. They had been replaced by bottomless, pitch-black chasms that would drop any unfortunate soul directly to the lower levels, or even straight down into the Underhive. Ninety-nine percent of those who fell—mutant or otherwise—would die on impact.
"Turn left... be careful," Raul whispered, commanding the servitor to navigate around the gaps. The two of them moved extremely cautiously. A single misstep meant both of them—or rather, him and the machine—would meet a very gruesome end. Although he knew he could always resurrect if he died, climbing out of that abyss would be a monumental nightmare. It was best to avoid falling in the first place.
Pew! Pew!
Two laser beams from a las-weapon pierced the gloom, temporarily illuminating the immediate area in a harsh ruby light. The red beams struck Raul and the servitor dead center in their torsos with lethal precision.
Raul collapsed instantly, a massive, cauterized hole burned straight through his clothes and flesh, leaving a gaping crater in his chest. Simultaneously, the damaged servitor suffered a catastrophic system malfunction. It continued moving blindly in a straight line, trampling right over Raul's corpse before stumbling into the broken floor ahead and plummeting into the abyss, down toward the Underhive.
Just a few seconds later, Raul sat up, completely healed, save for his scorched clothing and heavily damaged armor. He looked around frantically for the enemy. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he searched for his servitor, but there was no sign of it.
He stared at the chasm ahead and realized instantly what had happened. Raul made a split-second decision: he jumped right into the hole. To him, the treasures inside that crate were worth more than anything else in the galaxy. They were relics from humanity's distant past and were immeasurably valuable to him.
And with that, his body vanished into the pitch-black void of the Underhive.
---__________________________________________
"It is nothing, My Lady... just some hive scum and a servitor," Berion, walking just behind Eric, said to the white-haired beauty in the gray trench coat. She was aiming her weapon at the exact spot where Berion had just fired his hot-shot lasgun, highly alert and ready to drop back into combat at a moment's notice.
Eric lowered his weapon and sighed. In such a dark environment and tense situation, sudden gunfire was incredibly startling, even if there was no serious threat. But that didn't make him lower his guard in the slightest.
"Alright... just don't do that again without warning, understand?" Eric replied softly, turning his attention back to the corridor ahead, where Omega was leading the way. Berion pulling a stunt like that in the middle of hostile territory only amplified Eric's paranoia.
He felt incredibly lucky that they had made it this far without running into any more gang members or thugs. It was likely they had all rushed back to reinforce their besieged base. That was a good thing; it kept him out of further danger. Plus, it had finally given him the chance to swap out the filthy, stolen ganger clothes for his own clean outfit, which he had kept safely tucked away in his bag.
Eric was overjoyed to be back in his own clothes. He had used a handkerchief to wipe the soot and grime from his face. Even though he still had to wear the tight, suffocating chest plate for safety, and hadn't showered in three days—leaving his skin feeling sticky and gross—it wasn't a big deal. He had survived far worse.
During their trek, the surviving House Guard had introduced himself as Berion Le Bon, the youngest son of a noble family overseeing Hive Kathion's water purification systems—a family that, naturally, served under House Korvax.
In Eric's opinion, the man had a bizarre, twisted French-sounding name. Berion was quite polite, chivalrous toward women, and subtly seemed to be taking an interest in him However, underneath that politeness was a deeply ingrained, patronizing arrogance that made Eric incredibly uncomfortable.
If Berion hadn't wasted time playing with his food against the Kroot and had just used his power sword from the start, the fight in that room would have ended much sooner.
Eric knew all too well how much Upper Hivers despised those from the lower levels. It varied from person to person, but Berion's condescension was palpable enough to put Eric on edge. He couldn't help but wonder how the man would react if he knew "Erica" was actually from the Lower Hive.
But it didn't matter. This was only temporary. He would probably never see this guy again. Honestly, he'd be even happier if he never had to see Omega again, either.
_Which restaurant should I go to when I get back?_Eric thought as he walked, still keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. He couldn't deny how much he loathed corpse-starch—no one actually liked the stuff. He had been forced to eat nothing but corpse-starch for three days in this hellhole, completely unwashed. The moment he got back, he was going to treat himself to a real meal to make up for all this misery.
However, he was also secretly worried about his day job. He had been absent for quite a while now. How was the head of the accounting department at the manufactorum going to react when he finally showed up? It was a genuine source of anxiety. He had already gotten chewed out during his first week just for mistyping a single letter.
Even though this was his first official mission, Eric knew deep down it wouldn't be the last time he'd be forced to take a leave of absence to do dirty work for Vann.
But he secretly prayed this would be the last time.