Date: 3.988.M41
Hive Kathion,
Upper Hive
Eric lay curled up on his bed, basking in the comfort of a lazy morning. It was the holiday he had been anticipating for nine long days. After much deliberation, his choice was simple: he would do absolutely nothing but lie here in his sanctuary.
While others might be flocking to the cathedral, celebrating, or attending the festival, he had no desire to join them. He wanted to spend this holiday resting in solitude. Currently, he was clad only in a thin nightgown.
It's rather revealing, and I would never wear this in public, but it's more comfortable than I thought, he mused. Initially, he had been reluctant to wear such a flimsy garment, as it was far too risqué for his conservative tastes. However, after trying it on, he couldn't deny its comfort.
But that peace was shattered in an instant when Livia burst through the door.
How?!
"Happy Sanguinala!!! Don't just lie there huddled up like that, Erica! It's a holiday; you should be out celebrating with everyone else!" Livia shouted, her voice bright and brimming with energy. The cheerful grin on her face suggested she had a full itinerary planned.
"Aaah!!" Eric jumped, nearly falling off the bed. He instinctively covered his chest with his hands while frantically grabbing the blanket to pull over himself as a second shield. His face burned hot, flushing red with a mix of shock and embarrassment.
"Livia! How did you get in here?!" Eric demanded, still in panic. There was no way Livia could have opened the door—even with her augmetic arm—unless he had forgotten to lock it.
Livia stood with her hands on her hips, laughing heartily at Eric's flustered state.
"Oh, come on. You probably just forgot to lock it. And don't act so shy and protective, Erica. I've seen it all before!" Livia said loudly, chuckling as she recalled the time Eric was naked, trying to wash his hair and bathe with one hand while his right arm was broken. She giggled even more at the memory of how she, Maria, and Rosa used to tease Eric by blocking his way to the showers—bullying the person they saw merely as a shy, tease-able young woman.
Hearing her dredge up those embarrassing memories made Eric turn an even deeper shade of crimson. He wanted nothing more than to burrow under the blanket and disappear. Even though his mind tried to remind him that he was in a female body now, his deep-seated male consciousness still felt 'strange' and humiliated whenever he faced situations like this.
"That... That was back then! But right now, I need some privacy! Go wait outside, Livia! I'll get changed... I'll follow you out in a minute!" Eric yelled, his voice trembling as he pointed toward the door.
Livia simply smiled and shrugged at Eric's reaction before turning to leave. "Okay, okay. I'll wait for you outside. Don't take too long; I don't want you to miss the fun of the festival!"
When the door clicked shut, Eric let out a long, heavy sigh. He grumbled internally while scrambling to make himself look as presentable as possible. Despite being teased, he couldn't deny that having a friend like Livia made his life feel a little more colorful.
He didn't take long to dress and head out to join the festival activities with her and the others. However, before he could step out of the room, Livia grabbed him and insisted on applying some makeup, claiming his face looked "too plain."
The Sanguinala festival proceeded rapidly and was far more impressive than Eric had anticipated. In his mind, it felt like a mix of Christmas and several other celebrations, only draped in a dark Gothic theme.
After passing through the sacred ceremonies and prayers amidst the crowd at St. Lucilar's Cathedral—which hadn't been fully repaired but was functional enough—Eric had to summon a great deal of courage to face the public gaze. Technically, he was a heretic because he didn't truly worship the Emperor like the others; he merely feigned devotion. And he had to be convincing.
Otherwise, he could be branded a heretic and burned at the stake. He didn't want to be a hypocrite, but he had to do it for his own safety and survival.
However, he had to admit that praying at the church did help calm him in some ways, and he had even considered truly turning to the Emperor, though not just yet. He didn't know why, but whenever he looked at the statues and paintings of the Emperor, they strangely reminded him of Jesus. The facial structure wasn't the same, but it felt similar. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but it didn't matter.
In the afternoon, they spent their time wandering the markets and participating in small recreational activities organized around the church grounds. Eric began to enjoy the atmosphere, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. He started to get used to walking alongside his friends and responding to conversations more naturally.
As evening approached, the ambient light shifted to the dim orange glow of festive lanterns. They decided to find a place to sit and talk at a local bar that looked clean and safe enough for Eric and the group.
Now, Eric sat in the middle of the people he felt most comfortable with in this world. On the wooden table sat glasses of alcoholic beverages. He watched Livia, who was still cheerful and cracking jokes non-stop, and Vann, who occasionally interjected with snarky puns and poked fun at Eric's prim and proper demeanor.
Lira looked relaxed today in the semi-formal attire of the Machine Cult. Her emerald green eyes sparkled as she spoke of the architectural beauty of the cathedral they had just visited. Eric didn't quite understand how a half-repaired church was beautiful—it seemed rather rough compared to the Gothic elegance he had seen before the damage—but perhaps it was beautiful from her perspective.
Eric leaned back in his chair, hiding a faint smile. Although his instinctive paranoia still lingered, sitting among this diverse group of friends made him feel that his "safe space" was no longer limited to his narrow bedroom. It was here, being with "ordinary people" who still held onto hope in this cruel world.
Eric sipped the warm liquor quietly, scanning the scene at the table with an indescribable feeling. He began to notice Vann playfully sparring with Lira, using conversation techniques to compete with her. Both had charming speaking styles and understood psychology well.
What surprised Eric the most was how quickly the three of them seemed to bond. Especially between Vann and Livia, who seemed to share a common understanding as former soldiers who had lost limbs in battle. Livia lifted her prosthetic left arm to compare it with Vann's, laughing as they exchanged stories about losing their arms and the quirks of their augmetics. Lira joined the conversation on the same topic, and they all seemed to click in a strange way.
Damn... that guy is a smooth talker. He's just as good as Lira, Eric thought, feeling a twinge of annoyance. He saw Vann flash a roguish grin at Livia before winking (with his remaining eye) at Lira as she explained the Machine Spirit within prosthetic limbs.
For a moment, Eric felt like a third wheel. He wasn't angry or jealous in a romantic sense, but it was the feeling of a man watching another guy effortlessly score points with the girls, while he himself had to sit there worrying about his posture and the lipstick Livia had applied that morning.
"Hey... Erica, you've been quiet," Lira turned to greet him with a friendly smile. "Look, you should try to enjoy yourself more. Don't be so guarded."
"Ah... really? I'll try," Eric replied with a thin, practiced smile, trying to act natural. In truth, he felt a bit scared or tense in places like this. He rarely went to bars; the last time was probably back in high school in his old life, and he didn't even know how he managed that. He hadn't stepped into such a place since.
Whatever... at least they look happy. That guy probably won't tease me for a while since he's busy talking to those two, Eric thought, feeling genuinely glad deep down that his friends were getting along.
Despite his internal nitpicking about Vann's "flirtatious" nature, this relaxed and safe atmosphere was what Eric craved most. So, he chose to sit, listen, and observe quietly, basking in the warmth of his little space at this table.
Amidst the laughter and the lively conversation of the two women and one man, Vann suddenly shifted closer to Eric, close enough that Eric could hear the faint whir of the man's augmetic arm as he leaned in.
"Hey, Erica..." Vann whispered softly in his ear. His voice dropped to a level meant only for the two of them. His previously playful and provocative demeanor turned serious in a flash.
"I'm leaving soon, and I have something important to discuss with you... in private. Is that convenient for you?" Vann whispered, his voice lower than before.
Eric paused slightly. Instinctive paranoia shot through him for a second. But when he looked into Vann's remaining eye and remembered the friendship formed in the refugee camp—and the fact that Vann had saved his life—he began to relax. Although he was still nervous and a bit afraid to go off alone with a man in public, he reasoned that being too paranoid wouldn't be good either.
Something important? It must be something serious, Eric speculated wildly. He nodded slowly.
"Sure. What is it?" he replied, glancing relentlessly at Livia and Lira, who were still discussing some machine part he didn't understand, before preparing to get up and follow Vann to hear what he had to say.
Eric followed Vann to a dark corner in the alley behind the bar, far from the music and bright festive lights. The cold wind of the Hive City hit his face, making him shiver. His paranoia spiked, sensing something strange—something dangerous.
Vann stopped walking and turned around to face him.
The moment Eric locked eyes with Vann's single eye, he froze. The atmosphere around Vann had changed completely. The playful, annoying, or charming demeanor of the rogue soldier was gone. Vann stood tall with an elegance and authority far different from a typical veteran. The warmth was replaced by a cold, hard demeanor.
"Vann... is something wrong?" Eric asked, his voice trembling slightly. He automatically pulled his coat tighter, seeking warmth and the feeling of safety that was fading away, trying to suppress the rising nervousness and fear.
"Why are you making that face?" Eric asked, filled with discomfort. It felt incredibly strange; the friend who had been warm and cheerful just moments ago had suddenly turned cold and rigid, as if he had become a different person. It scared him.
Vann didn't answer immediately. He simply stared at Eric with eyes that seemed to pierce through every thought. It wasn't the look of a friend looking at a friend; it was the look of an 'Arbiter' or a superior evaluating a pawn on a chessboard. It was as if he wasn't looking at a human.
The silence that hung for a moment made Eric feel suffocated. His heart began to pound with fear. He didn't know if he should just walk away, but he didn't dare.
"Are you sick? You seem strange, Vann," Eric decided to ask bluntly with what little courage he could muster, hoping this was just another one of his pranks, even though his gut screamed at him to run back to the safety of the bar.
Vann remained still. His face, once warm, now looked carved from stone under the dim light. His posture and silence made Eric feel unsafe.
But then, his fear and anxiety escalated when Vann finally spoke.
"That's enough. There's nothing strange about me. I was just pretending to be your friend to make things easier, Erica," Vann said, his voice void of any warmth or humor.
Eric's eyes widened. The discomfort and fear were instantly replaced by the burning rage of betrayal. His heart pounded until his chest hurt. His slender hands trembled, feeling as if the last safe space in his life was collapsing. But he tried to hold it in, still clinging to the hope that it was a joke.
"Don't joke like this! It's not funny!" Eric snapped at Vann, his voice filled with frustration, anger, and a hint of fear. He didn't know if this was a prank, but if it was, it was far too cruel.
"Stop believing I'm your friend. You are just a woman from the Lower Hive, a pawn with nothing but a pretty face. Not my friend!! Today, I have business to discuss. Do you understand?" Vann replied, his voice rising slightly, but it was devoid of any empathy. His demeanor remained still, showing no irritation or violence, yet it was terrifying.
"You... You lied to me all along?" Eric, confused, shocked, and frightened, could barely believe what he was hearing. The trust he had given as a friend was being trampled into dust.
Vann didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper, signing a signature with a calm, practiced hand before holding it out to Eric.
Eric felt a surge of fear, but the moment his eyes hit that signature, his body went rigid with shock and terror.
It was the same signature as the mysterious benefactor in his medical documents... the signature of the person who had paid the exorbitant medical fees to drag him back from the brink of death.
"Why are you stunned?" Vann stepped closer until Eric retreated back against the wall. "I am the one who carried you out of that bloodbath. I am the one who paid for every treatment to keep you breathing and standing here right now." Vann continued, his gaze cold as a razor blade, staring at the terrified Eric.
"It is time for you to repay me, Erica... From this second onwards, you will work for me as ordered. Otherwise, you must repay every single credit to me by today... which you know is impossible."
Eric stood stunned, tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to process the situation that had flipped upside down so fast. The amount of money he owed was astronomical; he couldn't possibly earn it in a day. It would take years of labor to pay it off. And he didn't know what mission Vann had in store for him, or how terrible it would be. Just the debt alone made his world darker than the deepest pit of the Underhive.
The life he had struggled to build, after surviving in this insane future, was crumbling before his eyes. The festive lights reflecting in the distance seemed to extinguish in his heart.
"It's just assassination and espionage work... Use your harmless-looking face to your advantage. Get close to the target, complete the mission, and you can go back to living as a little accountant as usual. Good offer, isn't it? You just work for me, and you get to live a normal life," Vann said indifferently. His voice was flat but cut deep. He spoke as if Eric's body wasn't human, but a tool for him to use.
The words made Eric feel nauseous and disgusted. Memories of the brutality of his soldier days and survival in the Lower Hive flooded back like a nightmare. He had tried to escape the hardship, the victimhood, the violence, and the killing. It made him furious. He just wanted to be an ordinary person with a peaceful life in a safe space like he had now.
"I... I can't do it," Eric said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, trembling with fear and disgust at the assignment. He knew what Vann meant, and he would never lower himself to use his body for a mission.
Or should I find a chance to end this conversation and run? Maybe fight? Grab what I need and flee as far as possible to start over?
"I don't want to do anything like that. I can't... Vann... please," Eric sobbed.
Vann frowned slightly before stepping closer until his shadow engulfed Eric. The immense pressure made it hard for Eric to breathe. Vann showed no pity, looking down at the despairing Eric with cold eyes.
"Will you accept my offer willingly, or shall I use other methods?" Vann asked with a decisive tone. "Don't forget, I am the one who gave you this new life. I am the one who allowed you to leave the PDF. I am the one who paid your massive medical bills."
"And I can take it back at any time. Not just your life... but your friends' lives too. I have more influence than you think. And don't think about running or killing me. If you run, you won't escape... or you'll live in hiding until you die. And if you think of killing me, you will be hunted for the rest of your life as a criminal with a grave offense."
Hearing this, Eric clenched his fists until his nails dug into his flesh, consumed by fear, despair, and stress. Judging by Vann's demeanor, it wasn't a bluff. He couldn't run. He couldn't refuse. And if he refused outright, he didn't know if his friends or he himself would be in danger. What am I going to do!?
Silence covered the area for a long, agonizing moment, broken only by the wind whistling through the narrow alley. Eric looked down at the ground. His eyes, which had sparkled with joy from the festival just moments ago, now trembled with confusion, fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. He felt cornered.
But when he thought of Livia's smiling face waiting in the bar, and the new friendships he had just gained, Eric knew he had no choice. If he refused, it wasn't just him who would be in danger, but others as well.
"Fine..." Eric gritted his teeth and squeezed the answer out. The word was faint as a whisper, but heavy as a shackle binding his life to the man before him.
Vann smiled immediately, but it wasn't the warm smile he used to charm Livia. It was the satisfied smile of a hunter who had trapped his prey.
"I knew you were smart and sharp, Erica. That's why I chose you." Vann took a step back to maintain distance, but the oppressive atmosphere didn't fade.
"Keep this agreement a top secret. Do not let your friends or anyone know about this. If you truly love your friends... And after this, go back to living your normal life. Continue working as your little accountant, and wait for my orders when the time comes."
Eric stood still, his body trembling slightly. The fear and stress he tried to suppress returned, multiplied. He wanted to cry, but could only let out a soft sob.
He watched Vann's back as he walked back into the brightness of the bar as if nothing had happened. Eric took a deep breath, trying to arrange his clothes and wipe his face to look as presentable as possible so no one would catch on. He had to go back and sit at the same table. He had to smile and talk as before, even though inside, his heart was shattering, feeling betrayed, deceived, and filled with dread for the future.
"Erica, is something wrong? You look strange," Livia, sipping her drink, asked upon seeing Eric's demeanor.
Eric pulled out his chair and sat down before answering in his usual tone.
"Nothing... You're probably just imagining it," Eric replied, while simultaneously trying to control his emotions and hold back a sob.
"Alright... well, I won't pry. Hey, remember I said I'd buy you a drink to pay you back for the one I stole that time?" Livia said with a shrug.
Eric, now flooded with a mix of emotions, recalled the moment his bottle was snatched from his hand. Right now, he didn't need much. She didn't need to pay him back at all.
Livia walked to the counter, bought a bottle of liquor, and walked back to hand it to Eric.
"Thanks," he said softly, before lifting the entire bottle and drinking it down.
_____________________________________________
Date: 3.988.M41
Hive Kathion,
Lower Hive
The darkness of the Lower Hive was choked by a smog thick with the aura of chemicals and decay. Surviving laborers and priests huddled together inside the church. The thick walls and air filtration systems were the only things separating them from the toxic gas lingering outside.
This district they inhabited was a slum that hadn't yet fallen into total ruin like the others. There were factories that still functioned somewhat, despite the damage from the Blood War a year ago—damage that had yet to see any repair or aid. The people here worked with hope and faith, hoping to live on and serve the Emperor.
But as time passed, they found that a plague of heretics had begun to spread. At first, with the help of the local clergy, they could defend themselves. But their strength was being severely whittled down.
And there were no reinforcements.
Their pleas for help went unanswered.
They had been left to face the sporadic incursions of small heretic cells entirely on their own.
Then, two weeks ago, a chemical bombardment had wiped out the majority of the population. Only those who managed to seal themselves inside the sanctuary of the cathedral in time had survived—mostly women and children. They believed it was another heretic attack. Their hatred for the enemy grew, but so did their desperation as they continued to pray to the Emperor with what little strength they had left, hoping for salvation.
The sound of prayers chanting to the God-Emperor echoed through the halls. The survivors prayed with intense hope and faith. Supplies were critically low, and no one knew how much longer the backup power generators would last. Everyone pinned their hopes on the flickering light of the dying candles.
Suddenly, the roar of massive engines shook the metal floor beneath them. Flashlights and thermal imaging beams from the outside cut through the ventilation shafts. An elderly priest stepped toward the viewport of the main gate with trembling hands. He peered through the thick smoke, desperate to see who—or what—was approaching.
The sight made his heart pound. A massive Leman Russ battle tank was slowly crushing its way through the corpse-strewn street. Surrounding it were soldiers in dark, heavy carapace armor, far more advanced and intimidating than the standard PDF troopers they were used to. Most of them were armed with fearsome Hotshot Lasguns.
"Soldiers... Soldiers have come to save us!" he shouted with joy, his voice resonating through the sanctuary. Upon hearing this, the survivors felt a surge of hope. Many wept, thanking the Emperor for hearing their pleas and sending deliverance.
"The Emperor has not abandoned us!!!"
"Praise the God-Emperor!!!"
"Yes!!! We are saved! Now it is time for those heretics to die!!!"
But as the soldiers drew closer, close enough for the elderly priest to clearly see the insignia on their pauldrons, his joy turned into a terrified silence. Full-body copper-colored armor, the symbol of a fierce Iron Eagle... and on the other shoulder, a cog with a sword in the center. The priest recognized it immediately. These were the private forces of House Korvax.
"Korvax? What are they doing crossing into this territory?" the priest murmured, his voice trembling with suspicion and fear. He knew the dark reputation of these soldiers well. Yet, deep down, he still harbored a sliver of hope that this might be the rescue they had waited for.
"Is someone here to help us?" a woman asked, her voice filled with hope. Her appearance screamed of malnutrition, and in her arms, she cradled a small infant. She looked at the priest with hope and innocence. He held his breath, unsure of how to answer without terrifying them.
However, what they could not possibly know was that these soldiers had received orders to purge everything in this area.
And that included them.
The roar of the tank engines faded and idled into a low rumble in front of the cathedral gates. Silence reigned for a heartbeat before the sound of radio commands broke the air.
"Yes... Yes, the Emperor has heard our prayers. Those soldiers have come to drive away the darkness," the priest answered, trying to keep his voice steady, even though a strange premonition and fear of the cold, mechanical soldiers outside clawed at his heart.
At the gate, the Korvax private troopers in full gear began to move. They raised their weapons and used hand signals with practiced precision. Long beams of tactical lights swept into the cathedral. The elderly priest, watching through the slit, narrowed his eyes. One soldier pointed at the gate, confirming to his squad mates that numerous "targets" had been detected within the enclosed space.
Seeing the signal, the priest hurriedly grabbed a thick rubber gas mask with cloudy glass lenses and pulled it over his face to protect against the chemical residue lingering outside. He checked the straps with familiar dexterity before reaching out to unlatch the heavy double-layered steel door.
"Everyone, wait inside," he ordered, his voice muffled by the mask. "I will go out to identify myself and explain that there are only civilians and faithful servants of the Emperor here. We must ensure there are no misunderstandings."
The mechanism of the steel door groaned—a long, metallic creak—as it slowly swung open, revealing the Korvax troops standing amidst the green chemical smog. The priest stepped out slowly, raising his hands in the sign of the Aquila to demonstrate his loyalty to the Emperor, hoping to end this days-long nightmare.
The priest had heard the scandalous rumors about these soldiers—ruthless, loyal, and blindly obedient. They were servants of the Emperor, certainly, even if their methods were brutal.
But facing them in reality... the image through the foggy lenses of his gas mask was like a nightmare clad in armor. The rows of soldiers stood with a stillness that was eerie. They didn't look like rescuers; they stood holding their weapons with a cold, regimented posture, looking like killing machines awaiting input.
"Greetings... have you come to aid us?" The priest's voice shook as he stepped forward. "Please do not misunderstand. We are faithful to the Emperor, not heretics! If you are here to help... we would be most grateful."
There was no answer. Only the sound of heavy breathing through the soldiers' rebreathers. The silence that blanketed the area made the priest's stomach drop. He clutched the golden Aquila pendant in his hand tightly, praying frantically to the Emperor that the terrifying reputation of House Korvax was merely exaggerated gossip.
But then, that tiny glimmer of hope was extinguished, replaced by revulsion and hatred, as he saw the leader of the squad step out from the shadows behind the tank. The man wore lighter armor than the others, designed for mobility. On his head sat a dark green beret. A white bandage covered his right eye, a red circular lens covered his left, and most terrifying of all was the gas mask fashioned into the shape of a lower jaw skull, looking like the Reaper grinning at death.
"You..." the priest shouted, his voice filled with extreme disgust and terror.
The atmosphere of hope shattered in an instant. As the priest stared through his lenses at the leader, looking past the red monocle, he saw an unnaturally bright purple eye and felt a strange aura radiating from the man. The smell of ozone drifted on the wind. Instinct and intense faith told him that this being possessed an energy distinct from normal humans. He had encountered Rogue Psykers before, and he could distinguish them from ordinary men with certainty.
"You... You filthy mutant!" the priest screamed with loathing and contempt.
Driven by the deeply ingrained doctrine that psykers were abominations and dangerous—especially unsanctioned ones—he decided to act. He reached under his robes with surprising speed to draw his personal pistol, intending to purge the mutant standing before him. But the speed of the unfortunate elderly priest was nothing compared to Omega.
Omega moved like lightning, closing the distance instantly. He drove a fist into the priest's face, sending the old man crashing onto the steel floor. Before anyone could react, Omega drew his plasma pistol, aimed, and executed the priest immediately.
Silence fell once more. Only the sound of Omega's cold breath through the skull mask remained. He let out a soft sigh, as if what he had just done was merely a minor annoyance. He then turned to the lined-up troops and issued a command in a voice that was calm but laced with absolute cruelty.
"What are you waiting for? Hurry up and do your duty. Cleanse this area. Leave no one alive. This is the final zone we need to inspect. Get it done quickly so you can enjoy the rest of the festival," Omega ordered, pointing at the cathedral, which was filled with civilians now trembling in terror and despair at the scene they had just witnessed.
(Skipping the scene of violence involving women and children)
Omega stood in front of the cathedral. Orange-red flames roared, reflecting on the red lens of his glasses, amidst the ruins of what was once the last refuge for the workers and the faithful. The military-grade Promethium fuel, capable of melting metal and structures with ease, filled the air with the scent of soot and molten steel. Silence reclaimed the slum once more, broken only by the crackling of the fire slowly dying down.
"Why so quiet... Rejoice... You have eliminated and killed those who worship the Corpse on the Golden Throne. You eliminated his disgusting priest. Why do you not rejoice?" The daemonic voices whispered in his head again, but he frowned, grit his teeth, and ignored them as usual.
Omega stood still before the result of his orders. His cold gaze behind the red lens watched the burning ruins with an emotion that was hard to read. He contemplated the dark comedy that had occurred an hour ago—death seemed to be Fate's joke.
It was a necessary sacrifice, Omega told himself. Although he knew full well there were innocents and children inside, as Lord Valen's loyal left hand, he had long ago discarded humanitarian concerns. For him, even a fraction of a risk that "heretics" or "infection" were hiding among them was sufficient reason to wipe everything out. To let even one survive could mean the destruction of the Hive City later.
He thought back to the priest who had tried to kill him with an old pistol. The corner of his mouth twitched into a bitter smile beneath the mask.
Foolish old man... Even if you hadn't drawn that gun, even if you had knelt and begged with pure sincerity, the final result would never have changed.
He held orders as the highest priority. The fate of this church was written the moment his forces moved into the territory of House Thalric to clean up the mess caused by the negligence of its rulers. The innocent were destined to die regardless. The priest simply gave him a reason to pull the trigger faster.
And although he hated being called a mutant, he was used to it. However, given the appropriate situation, he would not tolerate it.
Omega turned his back on the dying fire. The radio chirped, confirming that the entire area had been cleared. He walked back to the idling Leman Russ tank without looking back at the destruction behind him. For him, there was still much work to be done.
___________________________________________
Hive Kathion,
Upper Hive
Click! Click! Click!
Eric locked the door over and over again with trembling, weak hands. As soon as the door was shut and he was certain the outside world was cut off, the safe room where he usually felt most at ease seemed strangely lonely and terrifying tonight.
The heavy alcohol consumption blurred his vision. Everything began to spin upside down. He staggered, barely able to stand. Eric stumbled to the bed and collapsed face down, not bothering to shower, change clothes, or care about anything.
"Hic... Why..."
A sob escaped his parched throat. Eric buried his face in the same pillow he slept on every night, but tonight, it soaked up tears of despair.
Why does this have to happen to me?!
His mind was in turmoil, filled with self-pity and resentment toward fate. He didn't ask to come here. He didn't ask for this body. He tried to do everything to adapt, tried to be a normal person in a mad world, tried to work as an accountant in exchange for a little peace.
I just want to live a normal life... Just want to wake up, go to work, eat dinner, read a book, and sleep... Is that too much to ask?
The image of Vann looking at him with cold, emotionless eyes floated into his mind. It made Eric feel disgusted to the point of nausea. The words telling him to use his "harmless-looking face" and this "body" to approach targets were insulting and devalued him immensely. Today should have been a relatively good and happy holiday, not the day a nightmare like this began.
Why hadn't he just stayed in his room? Even if he missed the festival, at least he wouldn't have encountered this disaster.
I am not a prostitute... I am not a doll... and I am not an assassin! I'm just an unlucky guy stuck in this body! In this crazy future!!
Eric clenched his fist and punched the mattress to vent his frustration. He hated himself for accidentally being happy. Hated himself for trusting Vann. Hated thinking that friendship in this grim world could be real. In the end, he was just someone who was deceived, an "investment" for someone else—just a pawn saved only to do dirty work.
"Liar... You are the worst..." he deliriously mumbled, his voice muffled. The intoxication made him cry harder uncontrollably.
Deep down, he knew that the weak die. Crying like this wouldn't help anything; it would only make him an easier victim. But the pressure crashing down on him all at once—the life debt, the suicide missions, the insult to his dignity, and the paranoia he had to shoulder again—was too heavy for a normal person's mind to handle in a single night.
Still, my mind isn't as strong as the people born here. They probably see this stuff as normal... Dammit.
Eric curled up tight, hugging himself against the cold eating him from the inside. Even though he was in the safest room, he felt like he was standing naked in a blizzard.
Tomorrow... I have to wake up and go to work... I have to act like nothing happened.
The final thought surfaced dimly before mental exhaustion and the alcohol dragged him into sleep, tears still staining his cheeks.
He was completely unaware that he had accidentally attracted the attention of someone dangerous.
Outside, Vann, having secretly followed Erica as she stumbled drunkenly back to her accommodation to ensure nothing happened to her, watched from the shadows. It seemed nothing had gone wrong, and he was quite amazed she managed to find her way back to her room miraculously, given her intoxicated state.
Today, he was quite pleased that he had finally set his plan in motion. Although he was surprised by her reaction, which was a bit too intense. For a normal person from the Lower Hive, what he offered was an opportunity, even a miracle. No one else was generous enough to offer such a deal. He wasn't worried, though; he could "correct" her habits later.
But now, it was time to dig up information on that noble who dared to propose a budget cut for PDF equipment procurement.
______________________________________________
Hive Kathion,
Lower Hive
Omega sat alone in a dark room. In his hand, he held a bottle of expensive liquor. It was one of the few rewards he chose for himself after completing a mission, especially on a special occasion like this festival.
He did it primarily to alleviate the withdrawal symptoms. Although not a perfect fix, it helped significantly. He didn't let himself get drunk, however. If he lost focus for even a moment and agreed to the daemon constantly whispering in his ear, his life would be over. A fate worse than death would await him. He drank only to taste the flavor and distract himself from the voice in his head and the things he had done.
The result of this mission was quite satisfactory. They had wiped out everything in House Thalric's territory cleanly, losing only about 500 troops, mostly due to disease and swarm attacks by Poxwalkers.
But to him, it felt like a significant failure towards his master. Although he had reported the mission status, he didn't know if Lord Valen would be pleased. They had been ordered to eliminate everything in that zone two weeks before the Sanguinala festival began. But they had succeeded four hours late. To him, this was a massive failure. Even though his master hadn't sent a reply yet, he worried.
Omega hated being reprimanded. He felt like the ultimate failure when criticized. But that was a matter for the future; right now, he should enjoy his reward.
Damn it. His right eye was hurting again.
Omega slowly set the bottle down and reached up to undo the white bandage covering his eye. He placed the cloth on the table before slowly opening his right eye.
If there were words to describe it, his right eye was terrifying.
Its colors swirled and shifted constantly, like the Eye of Terror itself, contrasting sharply with his other eye, which was the bright purple typical of Cadians. This moment was a rare relaxation for Omega because he didn't have to endure monocular vision.
Normally, if he didn't keep it covered, anyone who looked into it would surely go mad or die. It was like the third eye of a Navigator used to guide ships through the Warp and see the light of the Astronomican—looking at it could be fatal. Since birth, he still didn't know what ability his right eye possessed other than driving observers insane or killing them.
Perhaps it was better not to know.
But as he was about to lift the liquor for another sip, enjoying the bitter-sweet taste and closing both eyes, he suddenly felt something.
Most sensations he felt from Warp energy were indescribable, but Omega knew where they were; he could feel them. This allowed him to sense daemons and Chaos-worshipping heretics. But this feeling was different. It was like the sensation when he encountered other psykers.
Each type of psyker gave off a unique feeling. But this particular sensation did not bring him comfort at all. He sensed the presence of a Rogue Psyker—untrained, just like he once was. This psyker couldn't control their power yet. Judging by the direction and location, the psyker was in the Upper Hive.
This was concerning.
Lord Valen could be in danger. What if this untrained rogue psyker lost control? What if they became a living portal for daemons from the Warp to flood into reality?
He would not let that happen.
With that thought, Omega immediately put down the bottle, geared up, and headed to the main elevator to ascend to the Upper Hive immediately.