- Fresh meat - fresh meat," a long string of filthy saliva dripped from the corner of the mouth of the horrible mixture of human and something even more nauseating. - Let's eat. Let's fill our bellies, let's fill our bellies. - At these words he caressed the chain sword, which he had gotten with great difficulty. But how well it cut through meat and bones!
- Quiet! - The second mutant hissed furiously at him. The two of them had long been fishing the lowest levels of Ixodus. With their uncanny sense of danger and knowledge of all the secret nooks and crannies of the hive, the gangs used them to track down and bring back debtors and those who tried to escape.
Often in these cases, the bodies of the murdered victims were left for the couple to eat.
- Look at that big bolter he's got! That shit's worth a grox. That's some serious dick.
- He must have stolen it," sniffed the other mutant with a crooked nose. - Look at this lowlife. We won't even get enough meat from him. All we can do is eat the bones, suck on them, and shake out the marrow.
- All right, have it your way. - The second mutant habitually removed from the right tumor on the place of the shoulder modified lazvintovka and fixed to the sight.
- Come on, come on. - rushed him the second, swallowing drool.
- Don't rush me," growled the first mutant. The crosshairs of the sight converged with the unsuspecting man's head.
Snap!
Shh, shh, shh!
- What the fuck? - Instead of firing, the rifle made a sad hissing sound and never worked. - Emperor's guts, this thing's wiring is fried!
Under the surprised look of the second mutant, the gunner began irritably hitting the plaque attached to the rifle, modified by the crappy gunsmiths.
Pshhhh... Peak!
While the mutant was swinging the rifle, its barrel was aimed at the second monster's forehead for a split second. He only had time to comically open his multi-caliber eyes as the rifle fired a shot, punching a smooth smoking hole right in the center of his forehead.
As if that weren't enough, the dazed assassin of his comrade turned his gaze to the still beeping rifle, the heat of its red-hot magazine felt even through his thick gloves.
- Holy shit Groxa. - The mutant said with emotion, disappearing in a cloud of plasma blast from the exploding lasvinovka battery.
*****
Stas looked to his right in surprise as a part of the wall collapsed and smoke billowed from it, along with shards of stone.
The man was monstrously irritated by everything that was happening.
For almost two months now he had been sinking deeper and deeper into the poisonous depths of the Ixodus hive.
In that time, he's seen swarms of mutants attacking local settlements. He'd seen maddened and deranged servitors running past him, chopping and tearing apart anyone who got in their way.
What to talk about, if once he even met the most real mad scientist vivisector in company with two giant ambles with the top pieces of the skull cut off.
And what did this vivisector, who had come face to face with Stas walking towards him, do?
He shared his food with him!
- Hey, man. Do you realize what a good month it's been?" the mad scientist, whose mechanical eye was twisting in the skull's eye socket like a madman, told him that time. - I've gotten so much material, I don't even need new prisoners anymore! All the cells are occupied. There isn't even anywhere to put them anymore!
Then he took off his backpack of food and shoved it directly into the hands of the unresponsive Stas.
- Here, eat this, get some meat on your bones. You'll come in much better handy later, when there's a need for test subjects.
And then the whistling mad butcher moved on, simply bypassing the strange man with his hands twitching with anger.
- Damn warhammer," Stas whispered fiercely, turning toward the tunnel that had suddenly formed after the explosion. He paid no attention to the squelching remains of the two mutants beneath his feet. He'd seen more than enough of that in the two months since the explosion. The most he had done was pick up the chain sword of one of the mutants.
Amazingly, the last one wasn't even hurt in the blast.
- Like hell you will. Let's see how you do next when I get to the most brutal, numerous and ruthless gangs of Ixodus, who live below everyone they can.
Good thing he already knew where to go.
There, somewhere up ahead, metal and concrete shuddered as the thing this damned world excelled at so much was going on.
There was a war going on.
*****
A rat that ran through the ventilation system caused an employee of the Administratum to be distracted for a second while filling out paperwork. Because of this second distraction, the clerk made a small error in calculating the resources processed.
In this particular case, several thousand tons of the strongest acid, which should have gone straight to the Mechanicus factories for weapons production.
That small error, after going through a few more Mechanicus arms and cogitators, began to grow larger and larger.
Tankers designed for a certain size and quality of product turned out to be completely unprepared for the new arrival.
Needless to say, disaster appeared inevitable?
Adeptus mechanicus, who arrived on the scene, identified several possible problems at once, but we are only interested in the final result.
A stream of powerful acid burst from several burst tanks and began destroying other tankers, creating a chain reaction.
The workers trying to stop the disaster were washed away by the acid wave and suffered a horrific, albeit very quick, death.
The acid itself, far from having exhausted its potential, began a swift journey down into the depths of the hive, burning its way through any obstacle that stood in its way.
Moreover, while most of the acid took one path, one small rivulet moved separately, forcing its own way through.
The Hive leadership that had learned of what had happened had ordered the urgent rescue of as much valuable equipment as possible, for which the workers below began to open and close the sealed doors, forming a stream past the valuable factories.
And the fact that along the way a number of neighborhoods of ordinary people would burn down, no one cared.
After all, this was Warhammer. A world in which trillions suffered every second and it was still better than what awaited trillions in the future.
*****
Walter Fisher was born and raised on some of the lowest levels of the Hive. Unlike his two brothers, however, he was born without any physical abnormalities.
Radiation, the mutagens draining down, the impurities and filth of the Warp do terrible things to living beings.
Walter, however, was as lucky as could be.
He was born almost perfectly healthy and it was this that helped him survive the beastly cruel conditions of the lower hives.
Pretty soon his brothers were dead and his mother passed away under yet another mutant client, never coming out of the drug-induced stupefaction.
Ironically, Fisher considered his mother lucky. She'd always been beautiful enough to have money to buy dope at any time.
Getting away from this cruel and dirty world under the veil of dope wasn't so bad.
Not surprisingly, if a young man wanted to live any length of time, he had to join the gangs.
And here he had been very lucky with his inheritance. His lack of genetic damage allowed him to become a member of one of the largest and most organized gangs in Ixodus.
They called themselves the Pure Hearts and accepted only those with the least amount of physical abnormalities into their ranks.
They also ruthlessly destroyed and incinerated any mutants and monsters that wandered into their territory.
The Purehearts didn't care if the mutants were a danger, if they were intelligent, or if they were too young in age to realize their mistakes.
Everyone was going under the knife. Most of the inhabitants of the lower levels of Ixodus didn't even know the concept of the word "pity."
Walter was among them. If he had ever had compassion for these ugly likenesses of real people, it had completely disappeared during his years of working for the Pure Hearts.
Fisher grew up fighting both mutants and other gang members in their hierarchy.
Be the strongest, fastest, most cunning and ruthless and, if you don't get killed, you will succeed. Isn't that a simple recipe for success in those gods-cursed underground catacombs that never saw sunlight?
Years passed and Walter gradually began to rise in the ranks, taking on a higher and higher position in their faction.
And it was more than serious.
Their gang had over ten thousand members and controlled some of the most lucrative and "tasty" lower areas of the hive.
Perhaps that was the reason for where they were now.
- RA-A-A-A-A! - the deafening roar of the huge mutant caused the wave of mutants storming the Purehearts' position to literally go berserk, lashing out with even more fierceness at the heavy, paired stabbers, raining down whole waves of heavy bullets on the monsters running forward.
Each of these bullets left a real gap in the ranks of the Ixodus monsters, but it was all for nothing.
There were too many monsters and they knew how to use weapons as well, which made the figures of the defenders fall from the embankments and walls under the attackers' shots.
The flamethrowers that came out from behind the walls poured waves of promethium on the attackers, causing them to howl wildly as the burning figures desperately scurried and rolled around on the ground, trying to dislodge the mixture clinging to them.
Even so, the pressure was too crushing for the humans to stand any chance.
Unable to withstand it, they had to, snapping at each other, retreat to the last line of defense. Right behind them were the main walls of the hive and there was nowhere to run.
The only consolation was that their "last fortress" was located on a hill and it was much more convenient to shoot the creatures coming from below.
- Mr. Walter! - The head of one of the gang's branches, who ran up to Fischer, shouted fearfully. - We are almost out of ammunition at the heavy stabbers! They're the only thing holding back their advance! Promethium for the flamethrowers is already at zero! What are your orders?
- What the hell am I supposed to tell you?! - Fischer roared, shouting over the rumble of stubbers firing around him and the squeal of rifle lasers.
- Because you are the only survivor of the higher commanders! - The squad leader's reply made Walter choke on his own words.
Of course, Fischer wanted to become the head of the Pure Heart Clan sooner or later. He was an ambitious person. But certainly not like this!
Walter frantically began to think about what to do when a loud hiss caused him and all the Purehearts to raise their heads upward.
The attacking mutants hesitated as well, warily raising their distorted and tumor-bulging heads toward the ceiling.
The increasing hissing was suddenly replaced by a quiet sound that was lost in the ruckus.
"The mutant on whom the drop of acid had fallen twisted in place and died, unable to get rid of the burning stuff.
Meanwhile, the fun only continued to escalate.
The first drop was followed by others, sowing panic in the ranks of the monsters and "rats" of the lower levels of the hive.
All of this continued until a portion of the ceiling collapsed, releasing a wide stream of acid that instantly covered the front ranks of the mutants and traveled in all directions.
Hisses, screams, groans and howls mingled in the air under the shocked stares of the Purehearts.
While on the high ground, they watched with bated breath as their opponents squirmed and melted in the acid, which, meanwhile, would not stop and moved on, spreading all over the lower level.
Except that Fisher felt hope in his heart too soon.
The bubbling sea of acid in front of them exploded with energy and revealed a truly gigantic mutant standing on two thick, swollen legs.
He had four arms and two of them held a staff with three arrows and three circles on top. It was thanks to him that he had formed a circle around himself free of acid.
The second pair of hands were not going to lie idle.
"O Emperor, save and preserve," Walter thought with horror. He knew all too well that the chaos gods were real, and had even encountered their followers a couple times when he'd been mopping up their "monasteries".
- Die, you damned people! - The monster roared in a thunderous voice and with a careless movement threw a glowing sphere with a rotten glow at the defensive position.
He carelessly ignored the bullets, lasers, grenades, and missiles pounding against his shield. But his blast worked to its fullest.
The green blast not only shattered the Purehearts' orders, but also horribly disfigured those unlucky enough to survive the blast.
The bodies, writhing in pain and bubbling with pus, were burned by their comrades, who were unable to watch the horror unfold before their eyes.
Meanwhile, the heavy stubbers began to stop one by one as the supply of ribbons showed the bottom.
The situation seemed more desperate with each passing second, as the grenade and rocket stocks showed the bottom, along with the machine gun ammunition.
Nothing else could hold back a chaos psyker of such monstrous power.
Fear and despair crept into the hearts of the men, making their hands weak and their minds foggy.
The flow of laser shots slowed until it stopped altogether.
A triumphant, overly broad grin appeared on the ugly face of Nurgle's chosen one. A long, green tongue licked his pus-swollen lips. Yes, his entire flock had turned to dirt, but no one had forbidden him to recruit new ones, had they? At least these ones had potential.
Just when all seemed lost, Fisher, and the Purehearts with him, heard a low, but growing battle cry.
There was only one person shouting, but there was something about the cry that made them all stare with morbid interest into the acid vapors littering the space, trying to find the source of the cry.
The champion of Nurgle heard it as well. Unfolding his entire huge body, he too strained his psyker abilities, trying to find the unexpected threat.
At the same instant, the acid mist shattered, releasing a man who raised a whirring chain sword above his head and charged straight at the towering sorcerer of Nurgle himself!
From the surrealness of the scene, the priest of the god of chaos hesitated, pondering which of a thousand ways to kill this pitiful bug.
And then it was too late.
The acid had already traveled further, so the priest removed that defense. That was why, when the thin stream of acid that had separated from the main stream in the beginning and now still spilled down, it was not met by the energy defense.
The corrosive liquid that showered the mutant caused him to scream in pain and lose concentration, causing the remnants of the psyker's shield to finally dissipate.
Screaming furiously as he ran, Stas raised his bolter pistol and pulled the trigger.
Over the past few months, the man had reached the limit of his hatred for his surroundings, so the sight of the giant mountain of rotting flesh, as well as the psychic aura spreading around him, didn't faze him in the least.
What Stas didn't know was that the bolter he'd gotten had a long history and was far from simple.
Due to a malfunction in the weaponry of the Mechanicus, the bolter, consecrated for years, which was a relic of Ixodus and intended as a gift to one Inquisitor, had fallen into a batch of ordinary bolters, which were to be distributed to the usual officers of the Arbiters.
Well there, the bolter that fell from a dead hand became the property of one Earthman.
Blessed by the spirit of the machine, the weapon imperceptibly adjusted the hand of its owner so that the missiles that flew out of the muzzle flew precisely to the target and even more.
The first of the missiles slammed into the elbow joint of the monster holding the staff with the mark of Nurgle, causing it to fall to the ground.
Rotten blood spurted in all directions as the priest screamed and raised the bleeding stump.
A second shot blew up the hand that the priest had used to attack the unexpectedly dangerous assailant.
The third and fourth "bolts" almost tore off one of the monster's legs, causing it to collapse to a knee, which Stas took advantage of.
Without slowing down, the man stood on the improvised "step" and flew up into the air, aiming the infernally screeching chain sword at the target.
The lowered monomolecular teeth sank with bloodthirsty joy into the priest of Nurgle's face twisted with childish incomprehension and resentment, gnawing their way to the bottom.
The decapitated body collapsed to the ground with a resounding thud, making the Purehearts who were watching shudder.
Stas himself somehow managed to hold on to the fallen body and pulled the satisfyingly gnarled blade of the pylomech from the wide wound. The sword almost purred as the bloody blood dripped from its leisurely scrolling tines.
At the same second, a bright and focused golden light struck through the breach in the ceiling through which the acid was pouring, and descended precisely upon the figure of the murderous priest of the Dark Gods, enveloping him in a golden divine halo.
In fact, the light from one of the fallen industrial lamps upstairs, having reflected repeatedly off several smooth surfaces, by pure coincidence was directed precisely at Stas.
But who could have known about it?
Fischer himself didn't notice when he heard a throat-wrenching scream:
- The Holy One! The Emperor's own Saint has come down to us!
Perhaps he had shouted it himself.
Walter was not a true believer, even though he had seen the horrors of chaos.
Perhaps the reason was that he had learned about faith in the Emperor from one of the mad missionaries who dared to descend to the deepest levels of Ixodus, knowing it was a one-way trip.
They were all profoundly insane and spat in holy fervor even as they talked about the most ordinary things.
But be that as it may, at that very moment, when he had seen them all miraculously saved, and how a man blessed with the grace of the Emperor of Mankind had trampled and torn the vile spawn of the Warp, Walter Fisher, as well as all the Purehearts, had finally believed.
Rushing forward and stumbling, they began to descend the concrete hill of their fortress. Each one of them sought to be the first to touch the goodness of the Holy One.
- Holy! Holy! Holy! - Despite the battle, the surviving Pure Hearts numbered over 2,000.
And their frenzied screams seemed to shake the entire hive.
- Lead us! We will die for you! We will kill for you! - someone later said that there was an expression of pure, refined rage on the Saint's face at that moment as they all surrounded him and began the prayer service.
And they all knew that this rage was directed at none other than the accursed xenos and heretics, for whom only torture and death awaited.
- Glory to the Holy One! May he lead us in the glory of the Emperor and the Imperium of Mankind!
The standing Saint looked over the thousands of bowed backs and, raising his chain sword high up and thrusting his head toward the ceiling of the hive, let out a terrifying roar of pure hatred, which was echoed by his rabid followers with genuine happiness.