Chapter 94: The Warp-Tossed Audit
"Hmph!"
Arum let out a sharp snort of resentment and turned away. He was still staring down the barrels of two machine guns, and a wise man—even a cowardly one—knows when to take the exit ramp. His tactical decision to hold back his elite guards was now glaringly obvious to everyone. He needed to vanish before the remaining rebels started asking why his "Family Retainers" were the only ones without a scratch on their armor.
With Arum gone, the tension in the camp bled away, replaced by the grim silence of the cleanup.
This time, no one dared touch Kian's "packages." His display of unhinged violence had established a clear boundary. In the 41st Millennium, the galaxy operates on Social Darwinism: if you're soft, people push; if you're hard, they break. Kian had proven himself to be very, very hard.
He spent the next hour performing a "Grave Audit." His haul was staggering:
[LOOT SUMMARY: THE NORTHERN PURGE]
PDF Flak Sets: 19 Complete suits (Grade-3).
Heavy Stubbers: 2 "Lumberer-pattern" 20mm Autocannons.
Ammunition: 3,000 rounds of 20mm, 9,000 rounds of 8.9mm (Truck-mounted ammo crates).
Light Machine Guns: 4 PDF Squad-Stubs.
Infantry Rifles: 7 standard PDF Autoguns.
Sidearms: 2 PDF Semi-auto pistols.
Ordinance: 23 Fragmentation grenades.
Kian was satisfied. This wasn't just a loot run; this was an armory. With this gear, he could turn his Underhive brewery into a regional military power. The only problem was the lack of loyal hands to hold the triggers. The Underhive was full of people, but most were "rats" who would sell his soul for a slice of synth-meat.
As Kian organized the crates onto the lead PDF truck, a mournful wail echoed from the center of the camp. He looked up to see a group of rebels carrying several stretchers out of the mud.
Five rebel cell leaders lay in a row. They were a mess of charred meat and perforated rags. Some had been shredded by 40mm autocannon fire; others had bled out in the dirt. Among them was Elder Silas.
The old man was dead. The 40mm high-explosive round that had hit his mount had also shredded his legs. He was covered in shrapnel wounds, his grey-green hat lying nearby, soaked in oil and blood.
Kian approached the body, his brow furrowed. Silas was a high-value contact. His death was a massive logistical setback.
"Throne's teeth," Kian muttered. "Where is the Regen-Bolt I gave you?! Why didn't you use it, you old fool?"
Parson, the liaison, walked over to Kian, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief.
"Master Voss... he didn't keep it. Before the charge, he sent a rider to the rear. A young boy—one of the orphans—had stepped on a mine during the evacuation. His legs were gone. Silas ordered the rider to use the 'Scavenger's Needle' on the child."
Kian winced, a rare pang of annoyance hitting him. Selfless sacrifice in the 41st Millennium? That's the fastest way to get your name written on a memorial wall that no one reads.
"Heroism is expensive, Parson," Kian sighed. "What's the plan now? Your leaders are dead, your warriors are broken, and your homes are craters."
Parson looked at the mud, then at Kian, his eyes hardening with a desperate resolve.
"We've survived worse. The PDF has hit us with heavy artillery and gas before. Entire sectors were deleted, but the roots remain. As long as we can work the soil, we will rebuild. We'll merge the survivors of the eight cells. We'll start over."
He looked at Kian. "But we have too many wounded. The 'wound-fever' will take the rest of us if we don't get real medicine. Master Voss... I know you have Spire-connections. If you can bring us medical supplies, we will pay any price in grain. We will move the mountains themselves for you."
[DING! NEW CONTACT DISCOVERED: PARSON (REBEL COMMANDER)]
[Reputation Rank: LV 3 (Exalted)]
Note: As your savior-debt is absolute and your warning saved the cell, Parson views you as a living avatar of Providence.
[MISSION TRIGGERED: THE FIELD HOSPITAL]
Objective: Deliver 20x Refined Narthecium Powder, 20x Battle-Stimms, 30x Med-Kits, 30x Surgical Kits.
Reward: Permanent "Smuggler's Pass" + Massive Grain Bonus.
Kian looked at the "Exalted" reputation and realized he'd just "inherited" the rebel trade route. Parson was even better than Silas—the boy owed Kian his life twice over.
"I can do it," Kian said. "I have the stocks in my Sanctum. I'll drive the truck back to the ventilator, bring the medicine up, and you can distribute it to your brothers."
Parson looked like he wanted to weep with gratitude. "Thank you, Master. You are... you are more than a scavenger."
Kian ignored the praise. He had one more piece of business to attend to. He turned his gaze toward the Chimera Armored Transport.
The rebels were surrounding the metal box, poking it with pipes and stones. They had no more explosives left to breach the armor. Kian knew someone was still inside; he could hear the faint, frantic scratching of people trapped in a metal coffin.
Kian approached the hull and pressed his ear to the plasteel. He heard the muffled sound of a safety pin being pulled.
CLICK-SNAP.
Suddenly, one of the rear firing ports slid open. A fragmentation grenade was shoved through the hole. It hit the mud at Kian's feet.
"CRAP!" Kian yelled.
Parson was standing right next to him. If that grenade went off, Kian would respawn, but his most valuable contact would be turned into a "closed-casket" memory.
In that micro-second of panic, Kian's mind hit a state of Hyper-Clarity (30). He didn't think; he felt. He reached out with his mind, grabbing the air around the grenade. He didn't try to throw it. He tried to Shunt it.
PSIONIC FLASH!
Kian's eyes glowed with a blinding, purple light. He felt a sharp, agonizing drain on his mental energy, as if his brain were being squeezed by a hydraulic press.
The grenade flickered. It turned translucent, a purple Warp-shimmer enveloping the iron casing.
Snap.
The grenade vanished from the Materium.
[LOCATION: THE IMMATERIUM - HERETIC ASTARTES CRUISER 'BLOOD-SCORCH']
Deep within the Warp, a corrupted cruiser of the World Eaters drifted through the indigo mists.
In the primary cargo bay, a Champion of Khorne—a massive, power-armored brute drenched in dried gore—was overseeing a "Selection Ritual." Thousands of human captives were hacking at each other with rusted blades.
The Champion was looking for the eight survivors. The eight strongest "seeds" to be implanted with the warband's gene-seed and transformed into fresh Chaos Space Marines.
After hours of slaughter, eight bloody men remained standing. They were the apex predators of the pit. They dropped their blades and knelt before the Champion, waiting for their "Blessing."
"You have proven your worth!" the Champion roared, his voice like grinding stones. "You shall be reborn as warriors of the Blood God! Prepare for your ascension!"
The Champion raised his chain-axe to begin the ritual.
SHRIT.
A small, green-painted Imperial fragmentation grenade popped into existence six inches above the 甲板 (deck). It bounced once, clattering right into the center of the eight kneeling recruits.
The eight men looked down at the small iron egg, their eyes filling with confusion.
BOOM.
A standard Imperial grenade in the hands of a human is a weapon. In the warped physics of the Beyond, fueled by Kian's desperate psionic dump, it exploded with the force of a 75mm artillery shell.
The "Ascension" was canceled. The eight recruits were instantly vaporized or reduced to fine red splinters. The shockwave raked the Champion's Power Armor, leaving soot-marks on his brass trim.
One dying recruit spat a mouthful of blood and looked up at the Champion. "My Lord... is... is the 'Blessing' supposed to be a frag-grenade?"
The recruit's head lolled to the side. He was dead.
The Champion of Khorne stared at the eight piles of meat that used to be his next squad of Space Marines. He let out a roar of absolute, galaxy-shaking fury.
"WHOSE DIVINE BLESSING IS A FRAG GRENADE?! I WILL FIND YOU, SORCERER!! I WILL FIND YOU AND WEAR YOUR ENTRAILS AS A BELT!!!"
Kian Voss opened his eyes, clutching his head as a migraine from the Warp slammed into his skull.
He was lying in a wooden shack, staring at a thatched ceiling. He checked his body—everything was intact.
He opened his System overlay, his vision swimming.
[COGITATOR STATUS: UPDATED]
Weapon Proficiency: 110 (Elite Tier reached).
Warp Resistance: 60.
Psionic Proficiency: 60.
Ordinance (Throwing): 15 → 23.
[NOTIFICATION]
You have achieved 8x Grenade Kills in an unregistered zone.
Reward: Achievement Unlocked [Inter-Dimensional Nuisance].
Kian blinked. Eight kills? I didn't even throw the damn thing! Where the hell did it land?!
He pushed through the dizziness and walked outside. Parson was busy stacking firewood around the Chimera's hull.
"Master! You're awake! You fainted right after the 'Relic' vanished the explosive!"
Kian looked at the pile of wood. "What are you doing?"
"The survivors won't come out," Parson said grimly. "There are three or four of them locked inside. They tried to kill us again. We're going to burn them out. Turn that iron can into an oven."
Kian looked at the Chimera. The Winchester Guard were in there. Men with Lasguns and Carapace Armor. If they burned, the gear burned.
"Don't light it yet," Kian commanded, checking his auto-shotgun.
"Let me try something first."
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