Deep, deep underground, beneath untold thousands of tons of stone, concrete, and plastalite, lay the realm of the lowest of the Ixodus Hive.
Even in its best years, this place was teeming with criminals and human rot of all colors, shapes, and sizes.
With the fall of humanity in the Dark Age and the dawn of Chaos, the lower levels have managed to outdo themselves, becoming an even more nightmarish and repulsive place.
And the rulers of the Hive have no doubt taken advantage of this for thousands of years, dumping both industrial and human waste there.
Nevertheless, the natives of the place were surprised and distrustful to smell the winds of change. With a tenacity that even space rats could envy, they peered warily out of crevices and hiding places, trying to figure out what they should be preparing for.
Imagination, however, had never been the strong suit of the natives of such places. They were excellent killers, Primarch Conrad Kearse, the epitome of such "culling," would not lie.
But let's take our eyes off the frantic residents and turn our attention to the lower levels of Ixodus. A place where monstrous mutants and heretics used to rule, and now a place where a new power has blossomed.
The loud, furious music, backed by the clapping of the gathered people, literally screwed into the brain, generating the darkest and most unbridled thoughts within. Barbaric in its entirety, it was a true mockery of how long it had been since mankind had traveled to the stars.
As if that weren't enough, three dozen of the most desirable and select beauties they could find danced frantically in front of the audience. They were dressed in a funny mixture of leather strips and metal armor.
Their lush breasts swayed and bounced frantically with every pirouette, jump or dance move. It was obvious that the dancers were desperate to show the best they could.
Every now and then, their gazes were drawn to the formidable figure sitting on the giant metal throne that towered over the entire banquet hall.
The throne itself also attracted attention. It was made from the stacked and fused together weapons of a dead chaos mutant army. Even with the acid and promethium heat treatment, one could still recognize the deformed and mangled staff bearing the symbol of Nurgle's grandfather.
The faithful followers tried to persuade their master not to take any unnecessary risks and not to sit on the tainted sigils of the Dark Gods, but their leader didn't care, which in turn only further fueled the fire of faith in his chosenness. The faithful followers tried to persuade their lord not to take any unnecessary risks and not to sit on the desecrated sigils of the Dark Gods, but their leader did not care, which in turn only further fueled the fire of faith in his chosenness.
After all, who but a Saint, someone who is above all conventions, can afford to be so dismissive of something as terrible as Chaos? Can an ordinary man be so arrogant?
Except that despite all the talk, at the very top of the frightening throne sat a mere man, though many called him by different names.
Savior, He-Who-Opened-Eyes, and the most common, Saint, were just a few of his great titles.
But unlike everyone else, Stas, and it was he who sat at the head of the giant table, was not at all cheerful.
It had been months since he had finally reached the bottom of Ixodus and fought an impossible and suicidal battle with Nurgle's psyker.
Adding the months he had spent on his descent, it was almost six months since he had somehow still been alive!
It was absolutely absurd, but he was living in the Warhammer world and... Almost enjoying life! He wasn't tortured by the Inquisition and his soul didn't end up in some demon's stomach. On the contrary, Stas stretched out his hand and picked up from the servant's obligingly extended tray some meat snack from the meat of the Grox.
And this appetizer turned out to be delicious!
When he asked how this was possible, it turned out that the cook, James Alvarez, was a former servant of one of the aristocratic families at the top of the Hive. However, due to intrigue, he had to flee and hide in the deepest dens possible.
When meeting in person, Alvarez appeared to be a very quiet and polite man who looked at the world with the meek eyes of John Wick.
As Stas suspected, James was a hidden cultist of the Prince of Pleasure or the Architect of Fates, because how else he was able to make such outrageously delicious dishes was not clear!
The banquet hall was packed with all sorts of people, the vast majority of whom, if not all, were members of one criminal gang, syndicate or another.
The abundance of tattoos, creepy Mohawks, and mechanical implants was eye-opening. Each of these people had killed someone, and often their kill count was over a dozen, and sometimes over a hundred.
They were exceptional scum, a concentrated collection of bastards and bastards. And the ironic thing was that they were willing to die for anyone they thought was blessed with the light of the Emperor. Some of them might have had their doubts, but they didn't risk even showing a shadow of doubt lest they be torn apart on the spot.
Meanwhile, the dancers finished their savage dance and were instantly dismantled by the gang leaders with giggles. However, about half of the maidens proudly marched to Stas's throne and spread out on special skins at its base.
As Stanislaw Fischer explained later, these girls had voluntarily become his property as soon as they heard about who he was. They had no greater honor than to warm the bed of the Saint himself.
The Inquisitor would probably have something to say about such an approach, but fortunately they weren't here. Or, in Stanislav's opinion, unfortunately?
And though Stas had slept with each of the girls, and had spent weeks doing so, he was disappointed to find not a single hidden cultist or Slaanesh demonette among them.
Stanislav himself was at a crossroads. He still sincerely wanted to end the madness around him, but fate persistently prevented him from doing so. No matter what he did, every attempt failed.
Of course, the man could have tried to open his own veins, but Stas believed that it was too early to give up and go to the last resort. Besides, on his way to the bottom of the hive he had already tried to settle the score with his life, but each time something quite accidentally prevented him.
And one might wonder at the man's uncompromising nature. It would seem, dude, enjoy life. You have a harem of very beautiful girls (for the bottom of the Hive, that is for sure), tens of thousands of people ready to die at your word, and universal reverence, which is nothing to compare with on the old Earth.
But only this "someone" can not even imagine the abyss of loneliness that Stas will face when he was forced to delve deeper into the processes going on around him.
It's hard to even imagine how much humanity has lost by entering the Dark Age.
Trying to talk even with the high-ranking inhabitants, Stas felt how alien they were to him.
Things that were obvious to him were incomprehensible and complicated to the locals.
An attempt to immerse himself in movies and games also brought only disappointment. No, the faithful "nukers" had conducted a serious operation to seize from the aristocrats upstairs a whole collection of movies or, as they call them here, pictorial recordings.
But trying to enjoy this collection was like watching an Asian movie, where half of the words and terms are only relatively understandable, and the other half makes you wildly annoyed.
The aristocrats made movies for themselves and over the centuries of such "creative incest" they degenerated into a very sad spectacle.
The local deification did not improve the situation either. Stas could not take a step without someone falling to his knees in a fervent desire to kiss the dust on which he walked. And from those who wanted to repent and organize a solemn self-immolation, as atonement for sins, could only be fought off.
Stas had only a few people with whom he could have some normal conversation.
And one of them was Walter Fischer, his permanent right-hand man, and the man on whom Stas had high hopes for his betrayal and murder. For the sake of the latter, Stanislaw had handed over to Fischer almost all power and control over his own guards.
However, to the man's dismay, Fisher persistently did not take advantage of the opportunity. However, Stas has not yet given up hope. Most likely, Fischer was strengthening his power and a sneaky stab in the back would come at any second.
- Mister," Stanislaw thought of him, and he was right there. - How did you like the show? - Fischer, who had stealthily approached from behind, leaned slightly to the right of the throne.
- You know very well yourself. - Stas answered gloomily, not really wanting to continue.
Walter sighed heavily. The former thug, now the nominal head of one of the largest gangs in Hive, could see his patron sinking deeper and deeper into depression.
The worst part was that no matter how hard Walter tried, he couldn't bring back their saint's lust for life
And he tried!
Having learned that the Saint trusted him enough to put literally all the power in his hands, Fisher decided to justify his master's actions at all costs.
But he had failed. Which meant there was only one remedy left, one that Fisher was reluctant to use to the last. There was no choice, however.
Walter sincerely did not understand his master's desire for death. True, Fischer allowed that he was simply unable to comprehend the depth and sacrifice of a true Saint, for he himself was only human.
- Sir," the tone of Fischer's voice made Stas look at Walter again. - If being here depresses you so much, isn't it time to go back to what you were doing before?
- What do you mean-" Stas suddenly froze.
- Yes, sir. - Walter nodded solemnly, his voice growing more powerful with each word. - I speak of returning to carrying the Emperor's light further, to guide lost souls and punish those already tainted by the foulness! A peaceful life is clearly not for you, so....
- You're right! - Stas jumped up from his throne, roaring with emotion. The whole hall fell silent at once. - I gave up too soon, letting this damned world impose its rules on me! If I want to die, nothing and no one can stop me from doing so!
Gang leaders, syndicate bosses, and assassin leaders listened to the words of the Saint with bated breath, trying to understand the wisdom behind them. They had no shadow of a doubt that there was a cipher hidden in the words of the lord, so only a fool would take the words for what they were.
- And since they were! - The eyes of the Saint, burning with a flame of righteous fury, circled the worst of the worst of the worst of the dregs of Hive society. - Then we have had enough of sitting below and living in obscurity! Let us rise! To the heavens! He who was nothing will become everything!
The blood of all present surged as the words of the Saint reached their hearts. Is their master suggesting...
- We will no longer silently accept everything that comes at us. We will rise up and take for ourselves what is our due!
- Yes!" the gang leaders shouted, jumping up from their seats and raising their blades and firearms to the concrete heavens. - To the heavens!
*****
Stas woke up abruptly, here he was going to bed, and the next second he realized himself sitting at a weakly burning fire, along with some tired old man in a shabby, brown cloak. However, even though the cloak was ancient, he could see that in a couple of places it was stitched with frayed gold threads.
Stas also noted that on the palms of his hands sticking out of the sleeves one could distinguish bizarre and faded tattoos, as if some shaman or priest had them.
The elderly man made no indication at all that anyone else had appeared behind his fire.
- Well, this is it. - Stas nodded contentedly to himself. His smugness was so strong that it made even the old man move.
- What is it? - The old man asked quietly.
- I've finally gotten into warp," Stanislav explained without embarrassment. - I bet you're Tzinch, aren't you?
At the sound of that name, the campfire shuddered fearfully, and the old man's face flashed with slight irritation.
- No, child. I am not the Architect of Doom. And no, you don't want to say the names of the other four in this place. I'm not any of them," the old man's voice grew humble. - And no, I'm not any of the demons who want to devour your soul.
- Then why the fuck did you call me here? - Stas asked irritably. - But no, wait. If you are not a demon, but can read my mind, then I have another question ... - Stas made a meaningful pause, which with each second became more and more awkward.
- So what's the question?
- Didn't you read it in my head?
- I did, but you still have to ask it. - You could easily hear the irony in the old man's voice.
- Here it is, then: "Why in the name of all the saints, why gold? Isn't it too flashy?"
- Because gold is the most beautiful of all colors. - was immediately followed by a quick and self-confident answer.
- Really," Stas snorted, not the least bit convinced. - On the contrary, too much gold is an example of lack of taste and barbaric luxury. If you're who I think you are, you should know about it as well as anyone else!
Stas poked his interlocutor defiantly, secretly hoping for some golden lightning that would interrupt his torturous existence. But his interlocutor seemed to be amused by his insolence.
- A common mistake. Mankind has betrayed this sacred metal in vain," the old man said with unshakable conviction. - Fools and poor men have been able to convince people that the look of steel and silver is more suitable for the man of the new age. But this is only a delusion before false idols.
The two disputants fell silent, gazing cozily into the flames of the small fire.
- If you are what you are, shouldn't you be, well," Stas waved his hands uncertainly. - Bigger, there. More majestic? Where's the golden armor and the fiery sword?
- You're talking to only a part of the whole, child," Stas frowned, was it just him, or did he see real sadness on the old man's face? - I am only a fragment of something once great...
- Is it the duty of all powerful and great entities to speak in pathos and meaningful phrases? - Stas asked a provocative question.
- Understanding comes with age, child. - The old man answered carelessly, but there was humor in his words.
- So why did you call me here? - Stas asked his first question.
- Your coming here is as much a secret to me as it is to you," the old man's answer made Stas freeze. - Except for you, no one else could get here. It's as if some impossible happy accident allowed you to get through all the legions of demons around you.
- A fluke, huh? - Stanislaw stretched out. - I've had too many of them around me lately. Okay, let's leave it at that. So what's next? Are we just going to sit here and stare at this fire? That's the personification of the Imperium, isn't it?
- Yeah, that's him.
- He doesn't look so good, - Stas looked critically at the shitty burning fire. - He's not feeling well. Shall we put some wood on it?
- Unfortunately, it's not so easy," the old man sighed. - I feel that it's time for you to go.
Stas felt a growing feeling himself.
- Will I be able to come back here? - unexpectedly even for himself clarified the man, to which he received a slight chuckle.
- Who knows, child. But, in turn, I'll be glad of the company. It's been a long time since anyone has visited me here. And yes, catch.
Unconsciously, Stas caught something glowing gold when the old man suddenly tossed him something. He didn't have time to look at the gift as the world blurred.
The rest of the old man's words literally stretched across his waking consciousness, "How can I leave my first guest in so long without a gift?"