Day 351, Year 987, 41st Millennium
Hive Kathion
Upper Hive
On the streets of the Lower Hive, the ceiling lights flickered on, signaling the start of a new day in Hive City. Each person working the shift went about their normal lives.
But for Eric, this morning was completely different from yesterday.
He opened his eyes with a furrowed brow. The bright, energetic feeling from yesterday had vanished as if it had never existed, replaced by a heavy feeling in his lower body and a dull, irritating ache in his lower abdomen.
"Ugh..." Eric groaned, slowly turning over. He felt like there was a heavy weight on his stomach. It wasn't unbearable pain, but a mild, rather annoying ache.
_Damn it... Why do women have to endure this every month?_ he grumbled to himself, frustrated by his male mind struggling to reconcile with this body's natural processes. Normally, he would just wake up, go to the bathroom, and get dressed, but this... was such a hassle! Groaning, Eric struggled to haul himself out of bed. He spent a little longer than usual in the bathroom, and luckily, the bleeding had stopped.
"Okay... clean, tidy, safe," he murmured in front of the mirror. His face looked a little paler than usual, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep.
When choosing his clothes, he dressed for work as usual: a gray coat and gray trousers. Eric decided to loosen the belt of his gray slacks by one hole to reduce the pressure on his stomach, even though it made the trousers look a little baggy. But who cared? Today, comfort came before neatness.
He walked out of his room with heavier footsteps than usual, clutching his usual shoulder bag tighter to his chest, as if he needed a personal shield from the outside world.
Arriving at the train station, the atmosphere that had once been just "boring and uncomfortable" in his eyes had now become inexplicably "annoying."
The smell of engine oil, rusty metal, and the sweat of thousands of people crammed together waiting for the train—something he didn't usually like, but he was used to it and didn't feel much about anymore. But today, Eric felt a pang of nausea. The usual noisy chatter, which he could usually ignore, sounded like a buzzing of flies in his ears.
_Why are there so many people today? And why does that guy have to act so annoying?_ Eric swept his gaze around irritably, his usually calm face concealing his displeasure.
As the giant train pulled into the station, Eric squeezed into a corner, trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid being bumped into. He sighed deeply, leaning his head against the shaking train wall.
Hang in there, Eric… Just go to work, fill in the numbers, and then come back to sleep… That's all. You can do it. You've been through bullets, hardship, and battlefields. A stomach ache and a crowded train can't affect you.
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, humming a tune to drown out the surrounding noise, and praying for the factory to arrive soon so he could sit down in his chair and not have to move for a long time.
Eric stepped off the train feeling like his body was falling apart. The churning in his stomach was still as faithful as the machinery in this Hive. He walked, clutching his bag, through the crowd towards the accounting and warehouse department with the most expressionless face he could muster, even though inwardly he wanted to lash out at everyone who got in his way.
On his way to his desk, he had to pass the department's sub-maintenance room, the area of the Gestalt Tech-Priest where he was responsible for maintaining the machinery.
_Doesn't the gestalt ever close the door properly?_
The door was slightly ajar, as usual. Eric paused for a moment, his eyes catching sight of the gestalt in a dark red robe standing upright. His robotic arm was rhythmically swinging an incense burner, chanting in a binary language that sounded like radio interference. He was performing a ritual in front of him. A holographic projector was displaying a vivid green image of the factory's detailed circuit diagram—ancient and futuristic at the same time.
Eric stared at the flashing hologram, his eyebrows twitching as he thought of the equipment he used every day.
_It's unfair,_Eric sarcastically muttered, his lips pressed together. The frustration from his stomach ache mixed with resentment.
_Those machine priests get to use holograms to pray, while I, the accountant, have to sit here with my fingers cramping, typing on that heavy, Stone Age typewriter? Fair enough, 41st millennium! Why haven't those old computers left behind at the back of the factory been repaired and used yet?_ He exhaled sharply through his nose, the stray strands of hair framing his face fluttering , as he recalled the remains of the computer-like machinery he'd seen at the back of the factory. He hurried past the room, not wanting the gestalt to notice him and start taunting him with technical jargon he couldn't understand.
Reaching his familiar desk, Eric slammed his bag onto his chair with slight frustration. His gaze fell upon the imposing black metal typewriter sitting on the desk. It looked sturdy, durable, and… incredibly outdated for someone from the 21st century like him.
"Don't complain any more, Eric. At least you're lucky you don't have to write everything down with a pen," he muttered to himself, sitting down and preparing to work as usual.
He pulled a dictionary from his emergency dictionary bag, picked up a sheet of paper, inserted it into the typewriter, and began reading from the list of notes. He then started typing, the clattering sound echoing loudly in his throbbing head. Eric gritted his teeth, trying to shake the gestalt hologram from his mind.
_If I don't meet my sales target today,I'll smash this typewriter against that hologram ,_ he grumbled sarcastically to himself, while his fingers continued to accurately type numbers onto the paper. However, he would never actually do what he had just said. Because he knew the horrifying truth that anyone who offended the mechanicus, or committed an unforgivable crime, would be turned into a servitor—a pathetic, terrifying, and depressing cyborg.
Time passed. As the clock on the wall ticked slowly, Eric began to feel the throbbing pain in his lower abdomen subside somewhat. Perhaps it was because he was so engrossed in typing on the metal keyboard that he momentarily forgot the pain, or perhaps his body was simply getting used to it.
But then, the dreary peace was shattered.
Eric's eyes caught sight of a figure in a red cloak darting past the doorway of his office. He wasn't the calm, composed Gestalt; just another Tech-Priest, one that seemed more "strange" than usual. His robotic arm was supporting a bizarre spherical machine with tangled wires and spinning gears, and most chillingly, a happy, giggling laughter emanated from the speakers embedded in his throat.
_What is that now…_ Eric muttered to himself, pausing his typing on the typewriter. He secretly thought that the Mechanicus were just abnormal people who liked to modify themselves with machines, and believed that every machine and invention, even a pen, had a mechanical soul. But seconds after that tech priest disappeared around the corner...
BOOM!!!
A deafening explosion shook the floor of the room, followed by a bright blue flash that illuminated the office. Eric jumped in fright, almost falling off his chair.He nearly hit the deck, a reflex from his days as a conscript , as he used to do as a conscript in the army when faced with an ambush, but he restrained himself.
"What happened!" he whispered, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. But before he could decide what to do, the same figure in the red robe shuffled back. This time, he looked terrible. The beautiful red robe was covered in large burn marks, and his metal face and mechanical tentacles were covered in black soot. His once energetic demeanor was gone, replaced by slumped shoulders and an utterly dejected walk.
The tech priest paused briefly in front of Eric's doorway. He stared at the now-burnt, charred machine in his hand before letting out a synthesized, mournful sigh and silently walking away.
Eric watched the soot-covered back, blinking in disbelief. The apprehension from a moment ago turned into a throbbing headache.
"Damn it... Are there really so few normal people in this future world?" He slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples.
He sighed heavily, trying to refocus on the pile of documents in front of him. Although he felt a little sorry for the Tech Priest who seemed so excited and focused on that "toy," he couldn't help but curse inwardly for the lack of safety measures in bringing such a dangerous item into the factory. What if a fire broke out?
Eric tried to calm himself and resumed typing, but this time he glanced at the door more frequently... because he wasn't sure if another unexpected incident might occur.
Time passed quickly. The bell signaling the end of his shift rang like a heavenly sound. Eric quickly stuffed his dictionary and other miscellaneous items into his bag. He felt so relieved that he unconsciously hummed a tune to himself, because today had been a long and frustrating day—the stomach ache that had just subsided, and the incident with the Tech Priest's equipment or machinery exploding.
_Finally... I can go back to hugging my pillow._ "Eat some crackers, take a shower, and snuggle under a warm blanket..." he thought as he hurried down the narrow factory corridor at a steady pace. No matter the time, showering was his favorite; it made him feel relaxed and happy.
But then... it seemed he was having bad luck today.
BANG!!!
The heavy metal door of the administrative office next to the corridor was flung open violently and quickly before Eric could react. The hard door slammed into his forehead and chest!
"Ouch!"
Eric's body tumbled to the floor of the corridor, completely incapacitated. Pain shot through his face and his delicate chest (which he was still not used to the pain in). He clutched his forehead, which was beginning to swell, and his chest, which ached terribly from the impact. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain and shock.
While he was dazed and trying to take deep breaths to suppress the pain, a male employee (presumably from the clerical or document department) carrying a stack of documents rushed out of the room in a hurry.
"Get out of the way! Urgent documents for Tech Priest Gestalt! They need to reach the boss within five minutes!" the employee yelled frantically. He dashed past, nearly trampling Eric, without even stopping to look or apologize, as if Eric's fallen body were just an obstacle or trash.
Eric froze on the floor, covered in dust and engine oil, feeling immediate resentment and hurt by the behavior. What was wrong with these people? nursing his aching chest"
"Terrible!" he cursed inwardly, rubbing his forehead. "Damn it... not even a glance. At least some help to get up or an apology would have been nice." He gritted his teeth and quickly stood up. He wasn't going to sit there sulking and attract attention. He brushed the dust off his neat gray uniform, which had been polished since leaving home until the end of the workday, but was now wrinkled.
The annoying and irritating stomach ache and unusually strong irritability were bad enough today, and this added to the problem. His patience was wearing thin. Right now, he wanted to drag that employee over, teach him a lesson, and make him apologize properly with a couple of punches.
_"Whatever... it's just a small thing, Eric. You've been through wars. A door slamming in your face won't kill you..."_ He tried to calm himself and reassure himself. He'd been punched in the face before, and he'd been punched in the stomach so hard he couldn't move or speak. He could handle this easily. He walked towards the factory exit, trying to ignore the pain.
_"But damn it, why is this soft flesh so fragile?""_ Eric thought as he felt intermittent chest pain with every breath. He must have internal injuries. Maybe he needed some painkillers.
"Today was awful."
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Day 351, Year 987, 41st Millennium
Kathion Hive
Lower Hive
Sergeant Major Kazian stopped abruptly. The silence that enveloped the boundary between the zones wasn't a peaceful one; it was an unnatural silence. The thumping of machinery from the Korvax side behind him continued, like a heartbeat, but ahead—in the Thalric territory—it was like a dead world. They had tried to ignore what was happening many times, but this time they couldn't bear it.
To be honest, this area used to be under the rule and control of the Malvernis family. It was rife with crime and problems, including the rebellions of the Genestealer and Chaos Cultists, which led to a great war a year ago. The area was divided into 24 zones, alphabetically, and the zone they were standing in was Zone Z (the zone where Eric lived at the beginning of the novel), a zone that Lord Valen had ordered to be conquered by force.
Led by his right-hand man, Malvic. The Lord's close confidant had mysteriously disappeared and was presumed dead.
He had also heard that the reason the Malvernis family was wiped out was because their own family was contaminated by the Genestealers, and they may have been complicit in allowing them to stockpile weapons and instigate a rebellion that caused such widespread destruction.
After the war ended and everything settled down, the territory under the Malvernis family's control was divided equally between the Korvax and Thalric families. This increased the Korvax family's territory and influence, as well as their responsibilities.
"Sergeant... isn't it too quiet? I mean... normally we'd see something going on on that side, even if there weren't many people around. And it's been quiet for a day now," the same flamer specialist. His voice, shaky and tinged with unease, came through the radio, audible only to them.
Kazian didn't reply. He adjusted the lenses in his armor to thermal detection mode. He looked through the iron grates separating the territories. All he saw was the cold blue of the iron walls and ventilation shafts, devoid of any visible heat or life. That showed how cold and uninhabitable the area was.
"Are those Thalrics so busy praying they forgot to power their security system... or what if something happens to the people on the other side, Sergeant?" another subordinate grumbled, tightening his grip on his rifle. He looked slightly uneasy.
"Shut up. We'll continue our patrol, but don't be careless. Check every nook and cranny... If you see anything moving across from the other side, fire immediately without waiting for orders," Kazian ordered sternly, though inwardly he was beginning to worry at his subordinate's words. There was a high chance something terrible had happened to the people living in the lower hive, in an unguarded and uninsured area.
At that moment, a faint "click" sound came from the darkness on the Thalric side. Kazian swung his assault shotgun towards the source of the sound. The muzzle flash illuminated the darkness, revealing a figure huddled behind a large water pipe.
"Stop right there! Stand up and show yourself!" Kazian shouted. The figure moved slowly, the light focusing on its face revealing its features. Kazian swallowed hard behind his mask. It was a Thalric worker in a horrifying state. His skin was pale and emaciated, his eyes sunken and yellowed from the polluted air. He was gnawing at something that looked like a rat… or perhaps pieces of a decaying corpse.
The worker stared into the light with a mindless gaze, consumed by an insatiable hunger. He hissed like a wild animal before attempting to crawl back into the darkness of the Thalric territory.
"Are there still some drug addicts left?" one of his subordinates asked, his voice trembling.
"Sergeant… that's not human anymore," another crew member interrupted, his voice shaking. "That's… a complete mess, like someone infected or on the verge of becoming a heretic."
Kazian slowly lowered his gun. His unease intensified. What he saw wasn't just starvation; it was "despair" rotting and transforming into something far worse. Despair that would turn these people into followers of a forbidden religion.
It was chaos. Heretics.
"Report to command center," Kazian ordered, his voice more decisive than before. What they were facing was extremely dangerous. From his ten years of experience, he knew that such situations were common, and he understood the severity and destructive consequences of such events.
"Report that signs of high-level unrest have been detected in the Thalric border area. Increase security checks on personnel and barricades, and prepare a cleanup unit... We may have to deal with cult members."
He turned his back, leading his team back to a more suitable and well-lit area for a defensive position. Even with the cleanup and bloodshed here, it was still a "order" he understood. Unlike the other side... which was becoming a nightmare that even his shotgun blasts might not be enough to contain.
The uncomfortable silence was broken by an unintelligible murmur. A frail figure, gnawing at a rat carcass moments before, looked up. Empty eyes reflected the flashlight for a fleeting moment before vanishing into the darkness with unusual speed.
Suddenly, a cacophony of footsteps echoed from the dark, ruined slums of the Thalric district. When some of them activated their night vision goggles, they saw a horde of monstrous figures in human form emerging from the shadows. Their clothes were filthy and covered in strange, forbidden symbols carved into their skin. Their charging movements were devoid of fear; only primal instinct and madness flickered in their eyes.
Kazian immediately recognized them as chaos cultists. The situation was far worse than he had initially imagined. He had initially thought the workers might starve to death, but it was far more serious.
"wouldn't send reinforcements in time; otherwise, they would all be killed" otherwise, they would all be killed, and the workers and factory machinery would suffer immense damage.
As the radio operator shouted information over the approaching footsteps, Kazian and the rest of his team quickly moved into tactical positions. They formed a semicircle, gripping their pistols and assault shotguns tightly, their masks fixed on the chaotic cultists charging frantically.
"Stay calm, everyone... Don't pull the trigger until they're within effective range," Kazian said in a voice that contrasted sharply with the surrounding situation. His index finger rested on the trigger, ready.
"Wait for my signal... We'll make them understand the price for crossing the line in Korvax." The flashlight beam swept across the dozens of figures closing in. In the heightened tension, Kazian took a deep breath, preparing to unleash a barrage of attacks to stabilize the Hive, a order he had been entrusted with his entire life.
When the horde of cultists entered range where their weapons were most effective and the flashlight beams clearly illuminated their targets, the operation began. Sergeant Major Kazean's voice boomed, "In the name of the Emperor, may the souls of these unfortunate souls find peace and forgiveness from Him!!! Open fire!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The assault shotgun blasts from the entire platoon echoed in unison. The force of the bullets brought the front line of the heretics to a standstill, causing them to fall like stalks of rice being harvested. Their bodies were torn apart by the buckshot, but their shotguns had limited ammunition capacity and a low rate of fire. Combined with the heretics' overwhelming numbers, this allowed them to close in.
Just as the heretics were about to close the gap, the unit's flamer specialist stepped forward, pulling the trigger and unleashing a torrent of bright orange flames upon the invaders.
"Blood for the blood go---"
Whoosh!
The flames blazed brightly, illuminating the dark corridor. Many heretics were incinerated and fell within seconds by the heat from the promethium fuel used in the flamethrower. Many ran around screaming in pain before collapsing. Several rushed towards their comrades, clinging to the flames. Some pathetically tried to roll away the fire to extinguish it, but to no avail. The flamethrowers pushed back many of the heretics, temporarily halting the attack at that point, but their numbers were far too great for bullets and flames to stop them all. Taking advantage of the flamethrower shutdown to cool down, the remaining frenzied heretics charged through the flames and smoke, closing in on the patrol unit.
"Watch out! Close range!" Kazian shouted, lowering his rifle and drawing his high-energy electric baton.
The clang of metal against copper armor echoed loudly. The heretics attempted to attack with daggers, iron rods, and immense brute strength, but their armor was so tightly fitted and robust that light weapons only managed to create scratches or annoying clattering sounds, unless they were lucky enough to pierce the armor's joints.
The situation escalated into a chaotic melee. Kazian's soldiers used shields and rifle butts to push back the frenzied horde of barbarians. Despite the armor's superior protection, the overwhelming force of their numbers began to shake the front line of the 65th Cleanup Unit.
"Hold them! Don't let them surround us!" Kazian roared, swinging his baton at charging figures. He hoped his distress signal would reach command center before his team's strength ran out.
He was disoriented by one of the heretics using a crudely made knife before being immediately overwhelmed by others, leaving him little chance to retaliate.
The situation escalated into a crisis as the overwhelming numbers of heretics began to erode the discipline of the patrol. More than half of Kazian's soldiers fell in the chaos. Their once strong armor was being torn apart by the force of the onslaught. While Kazian was swinging his electric baton at the frenzied incoming figures, barely able to breathe...
RURRRRRRRR!
The roar of a heavy engine shook the steel floor. Large spotlights pierced through the smoke, blinding the heretics and disrupting their formation. Kazian used this opportunity to push aside the figure in front of him and turned to look in the direction of the sound. What he saw was the colossal shadow of the legendary Leman Russ Punisher (the new crowd control weapon they had received from Lord Valen) approaching menacingly. Its turret was fitted with the Punisher Gatling Cannon, a six-barreled automatic cannon ready to crush anything in its path.
Atop the turret and rear of the tank, a group of Corvax family's personal guards in full armor, armed with hot-shot lassguns, lined up. When the tank stopped, they jumped down to reinforce the line and immediately opened fire with pinpoint accuracy.
But what momentarily stunned Kazian, making him forget his fatigue, was the figure of one officer who stepped steadily from the tank. He had separated himself from the reinforcement group. His copper-colored armor looked scratched from countless battles, but the most striking and intimidating feature was the green beret on his head—an attire with seemingly insignificant defensive power that only a fool or an arrogant person would dare to wear.
His pale face was half-covered by a skull-shaped gas mask, one red visor gleaming coldly, and the other eye wrapped in a tattered white bandage. Most chillingly, a faint purple light emanated from beneath the bandage, strangely glowing in the slum's darkness.
His presence instantly made the surrounding air heavy, as if the power and ruthlessness of the Korvax family had arrived in person.
But amidst the roar of tank engines and the chaos of the clashes, a soldier in a green beret stepped forward coldly. He didn't wield a pistol or chain sword, but instead raised his gloved hand, pointing directly at the horde of heretics charging forward like a human wave.
In that instant, the atmosphere changed drastically. The temperature plummeted, creating a faint condensation in the air. A strong, cold ozone filled the air, masking the smell of blood and smoke.
Crack-Thoom!
A burst of indigo-purple lightning shot from his fingertips. Spreading out like bloodthirsty roots, these lightning bolts shot through the air, striking their targets with precision and ferocity. Hundreds of heretics who had stormed in were electrocuted by the immense energy currents, their bodies convulsing. Flashes of light reflected off the slum's iron walls before their bodies fell, burnt corpses billowing from the smoke, leaving only the stench of charred earth and a terrifying silence.
And Kazian, miraculously, had survived.
The previously critical situation had been instantly subdued by the supernatural power of this psychic.
Kazian, near death and narrowly surviving, froze. A static electricity tingled his spine, and a faint crackling sound emanated from his armor. He slowly lowered his weapon, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh of relief.
"That was close..." Kazian murmured to himself, his heart still pounding erratically. He watched the decisive action of the reinforcements who had just saved him, a deep awe in the psychic's power. But now his whole body ached.
Kazian stood breathing slowly, trying to calm himself as he looked at the purple lightning that had left burn marks on the floor and walls. He sheathed his electric baton at his waist, his gaze fixed on the figure of the green-bereted soldier who was skillfully giving orders to the reinforcements.
"Form a second defensive line! And be on alert in case it returns. The other team, prepare your flamethrower and sufficient fuel to eliminate these remnants completely. Leave no evidence behind!" The man's voice was deep and steady. His soldiers acknowledged the orders quickly, yet with a mixture of fear and trepidation.
Kazian felt a shiver run down his spine. This man wasn't an ordinary soldier... If the rumors among the security forces were true, this was Lord Valen Corvax's "Left Hand," a living and enigmatic secret weapon.
Imperiam of Man, those with psychic powers without proper recognition and binding by Adeptus Astra Telepathica and Scholastia Psykana were called 'wizards' or 'witches' and were usually eliminated as threats or heretical mutants. But rumors said Lord Valen found this man and chose to "keep" him instead of handing him over to the authorities, to refine him into his most powerful tool in battle and for use in emergencies.
_No wonder... why did I never see him during the war with the Genestealers?_ Kazian thought to himself, secretly observing the flickering purple light still emanating from beneath the bandages. _If he had shown himself before the Inquisitors, even those from Order Xenos, he would have been burned alive._ Or perhaps they'll send him aboard a submarine to pay tribute to the Golden Throne.
Lord Valen's willingness to risk keeping someone of this caliber alive shows that the situation in Hive Kathion is too fragile to rely solely on regular military force. The beret-wearing officer whirled around towards Kazian, one of his red goggles gleaming in the light.
"Sergeant Kazian, report the initial situation... Your information will determine whether we need to seal off the entire area, eliminate only the source of the problem, or simply wipe them out completely." He called his name in a tone that made Kazian quickly stand at attention and salute.
Kazian swallowed hard, his throat dry. He knew this man's words were a direct command from Lord Valen. After that, he immediately recounted everything he knew.
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