Erik Gussman stood in the streets of the lower hive, the jagged silhouette of the city rising above him like a mechanical leviathan, smoke and ash churning with every gust of wind.
Around him, his most experienced PDF veterans formed a loose perimeter, lasguns at the ready, stubbers trained on the streets where fires still burned.
Rebel banners fluttered from gutted walkways, warning of insurgent control. Each intersection was a potential ambush; Erik had learned quickly that the Mossur House insurgents did not fight fair.
They employed chaos-infused mercenaries and conscripted mutants, and their loyalty was enforced with arcane rituals that blurred the line between flesh and daemon.
Vox reports crackled in his ear, relaying scattered skirmishes across the hive's lower sectors. "Sector 17-B under heavy assault," a voice reported. "Multiple casualties. Reinforcements required."
Erik gestured to a pair of veterans. "Move squads to block 17-B. Hold positions. Do not let the abominations reach the civilians."
The veteran units moved with grim efficiency, their armor gleaming faintly in the dim glow of overhead forges. Erik stayed behind a scorched barricade, observing as more smoke rose from distant corridors. The insurgents had clearly coordinated their attacks, leveraging the dense, vertical maze of the hive to their advantage.
A sudden shriek pierced the air. Erik pivoted as a hulking mutant abomination emerged from a collapsed passage, its limbs disproportionate, clawed, and glowing faintly with warp-taint.
The creature's bulk smashed through support beams, sending sparks and debris raining across the street.
"Fire at will!" Erik barked, and the veterans opened up with disciplined volleys.
Lasbolts streaked, plasma rounds hissed and burned, but the mutant absorbed the punishment with supernatural resilience, shrugging off injuries as if reinforced by dark sorcery.
Two PDF troopers fell under its claws, screams echoing as the abomination lashed out. Erik's fists clenched, with heart pounding. He fired his laspistol carefully, aiming at exposed joints, but even then, the creature staggered only slightly before advancing.
He called for grenades. Explosions rocked the alleyway, and when the smoke cleared, the mutant was wounded but still moving.
"Focus fire! Hold the line!" Erik shouted, his voice carrying across the battle-scarred plaza.
Another round of coordinated volleys finally brought the beast down, its warp-tainted blood sizzling on the metal street.
Erik exhaled slowly, surveying the devastation. Civilians were being herded into temporary safe zones by his veterans, though the smell of smoke, death, and corrupted flesh lingered heavily. "The Emperor Protects," he muttered. "Every insurgent alive today is a threat tomorrow."
Reports continued to stream-in over the vox. Another section of the hive was under siege by chaos cultists who had captured a supply of industrial chemicals, attempting to weaponize them. Mutant and rebel scouts were harassing PDF supply lines, forcing Erik to constantly redeploy units to contain outbreaks.
He realized with grim certainty that he could not simply march on the Mossur House stronghold. The insurgency was too dispersed, the chaos-infused creatures too unpredictable, and the under-hive is too labyrinthine.
Each failed section or delayed reinforcement risked civilians' lives. He was trapped, forced to suppress the revolts while gathering intelligence on the Mossur House's ultimate schemes.
---
Far beneath the hive, in a section unreachable by most of Erik's forces, the true source of the chaos stirred.
The Mossur House laboratory was a cathedral of mutation and heresy, where warp-infused experiments writhed in containment vats and cages. Sigils of dark powers glowed along the walls, flickering with psychic resonance, while servo-skulls hovered silently, recording the movements of the abominations.
Agirah Mossur, the patriarch of the House, observed from a reinforced balcony, his dark robes fluttering as fans circulated the tainted air.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the thrashing, half-flesh, half-daemon creations below.
Servitors and tech-priest alike adjusted restraints, monitored warp energy fluctuations, and prepared new injections of daemon-tainted serums.
"More aggression in the latest batch," an assistant intoned, bowing slightly. "The last test subject exhibited insufficient compliance."
Agirah's voice was cold. "Compliance is forged through terror and suffering. Let them struggle. Those who endure will serve the House. Those who fail will feed the next generation."
A particularly large abomination slammed against its restraints, testing the alloy cages with unnatural strength. Sparks and warp-tainted energy licked the walls.
Agirah's eyes glimmered. "Yes. Perfect. Let it test its limits. Every act above will push Gussman to the lower levels. Every insurgent suppressed in the streets above is another pawn driven into my hands."
One of his aides whispered Erik's location and the recent struggles his forces had endured.
Agirah smiled faintly. "Let him contend with the rebels. Let him waste strength and resources. When he finally reaches the heart of my laboratory, he will face entities that are no mere mutants or traitors. Faith, discipline, and lasfire will avail him nothing here. Only despair and adaptation will meet him."
Around him, the lab hummed with energy; mechanical, psychic, and malignant. Vats of writhing chaos-infused flesh bubbled, incubators hummed, and cultists moved in precise rituals, channeling the Warp into their creations.
Every step of the laboratory had been calculated to strengthen the Mossur House's grip on the underhive and sow terror in anyone who might oppose them.
Agirah's attention returned to a newly arrived batch of abominations, observing how they fought against their restraints and against each other.
"Excellent," he whispered. "This is only the beginning. When the enemies finally drive into these sectors, they will find only slaughter and ruin. And Gussman... he will learn that the Mossur House does not yield, and the Gaulle is ours."
The patriarch's gaze swept across the laboratory's multiple levels. Each layer was more fortified, more tainted by chaos, and more lethal. The screams, psychic echoes, and snapping of bone against steel were a symphony of calculated horror.
In the shadows of this industrial hell, Agirah Mossur began to plot the next stage of the rebellion above, confident that Erik's struggles would bring him exactly where the House wanted him; into the heart of darkness.